Heaven and Earth
by WitheringSage
Summary: The story of Raja's parents, Aisha and Lancelot; how they met, loved, lived and died. And Raja's uncle, Ardeth, and his beloved wife Inara. The backstory of Memnon. All the little trails that ultimately led Tristan and Raja to each other.
1. She Walks in Beauty

To see the faces that depict my characters go on to my Mads Mikkelsen/Tristan appreciate page at my profile. :)

**Part I. She Walks in Beauty**

_One shade the more, one ray the less,  
Had half impaired the nameless grace  
Which waves in every raven tress,  
Or softly lightens o'er her face;  
Where thoughts serenely sweet express__  
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.  
-Lord Byron_

_Britannia_

"Truly Ardeth, this is unnecessary," Inara chastised from inside the carriage, her head poking out of the window. The sunlight lit up her golden skin, the soft breeze rustled strands of hair that had escaped from her hair clips.

"I could not agree more, Inara," Aisha interjected, her head peeking out of the door.

"Oh, gods, save me," Ardeth muttered under his breath.

"If this is to go on," Inara continued, loving to tease her husband, "I insist on a palanquin next time. Yes, that sounds nice. A palanquin carried by four well muscled men, covered in scented oil wearing only a leather loin cloth."

From inside the carriage, Ardeth heard his younger sister's amused glee. His wife and his sister often ganged up on him, two against one. Sometimes women did play unfairly. But he was simply glad that his Inara's face exuded healthy color, clear, sparkling onyx eyes, and a wide smile that warmed his heart. It was only a year ago that she had her third miscarriage during their twelve year marriage. It had devastated her, and had taken her months to be able to get out of bed. But Inara's health always bounced back quickly, and she could not be deterred into staying behind in Egypt when Ardeth had informed her that he was to be traveling to Britain, lending one of his ships to take the Sarmatian warriors back to their homeland.

Ardeth's family had had dealings with Romans for decades. Of rich, noble blood their family name was widespread and associated goodly. It was Ardeth's grandfather, Gahiji, who became acquainted with a Roman officer who was to command a legion of Sarmatians. But the boat that was to take him was looted and destroyed, and Gahiji was generous enough to offer his fleet. Since then, trade was common between the families, and Gahiji and his offspring and their offspring regularly went to Britain to lend aid.

Some five years ago, Ardeth befriended a Sarmatian warrior named Lancelot who was First Knight. When Ardeth received word that Uther Castus, Lancelot's Commander, had died a year ago, and his young son, Artorius Castus, lost his mother half a year back during a village raid, Ardeth and his brother Memnon took it upon them to see that the Sarmatian warriors returned home as was their right. With a change of commander at such a late date to receive their freedom papers, everything became muddled up. Not to mention, the young boy, Arthur, needed to return to his mentor and friend, Pelagius, whom Ardeth and his family were also good friends with, in Rome.

And now, his sister Aisha had also insisted on coming along on the tedious journey, never having seen Britain before.

"That is it!" Aisha exclaimed. "Stop the carriage!"

The five Medjai under Ardeth's command looked at their leader. The Egyptian pursed his lips and nodded to the carriage driver to halt the horses. When the carriage slowed, Aisha jumped out and set about mounting Thema, her black Arabian mare.

"Me as well then," Inara said, following suit of her sister-in-law. Inara, saddled on Nebibi, cantered close to her husband to place a kiss on his tattooed cheek. Her eyes glittered with passionate innuendo, and Ardeth truly longed to take her to a secluded copse and make love to her, but they were almost to the fort, and exploring her lush, perfect body would have to wait a bit longer.

--

Lancelot heard the horns and his spirits lifted, having looking forward to Ardeth's visit for months. He knew his wife would be accompanying him, along with his younger sister. He thought back to the passed year and how hectic it had been. Losing their Commander at such a late date was both grievous and complicated. Commander Castus had been a good leader, and had treated his Sarmatian warriors equally, unlike some other Roman leaders he had heard about in different parts of Britain. His heart had also gone out to young Arthur, losing both of his parents in the span of a year. At least the boy had Pelagius, and would be returning to Rome with his mentor.

Lancelot and the eight remaining knights stood in the courtyard, seeing the billowing of dirt beneath the horses' heavy hooves.

"I see two very beautiful women," came the swarthy, sly voice of Akbar, resident ladies-man. No doubt he would be sorely missed by the women of the fortress.

Lancelot turned a dark, reprimanding eye on Akbar. "You are to act appropriately, Akbar. I will not have you disrespecting Ardeth by propositioning his relations."

Behram, a tall, formidable looking Sarmatian snorted. "Not to mention one of those women is Ardeth's wife."

The rest of the men jeered at Akbar, save for Ahriman, the best scout there ever was. Ahriman was of the Iazyges tribe, and they all knew that tribe was far different from the rest of the Sarmatian tribes. Their beliefs and ways of life were far more eccentric than the others. They were nomads, moving from place to place, and the initiation into manhood was a first kill, and was rewarded with symbolic tattoos on their cheeks. Ahriman also had a plethora of braids in his dark hair. Ahriman was quiet and stoic, and relished every kill he made.

Akbar scoffed, but refrained from making anymore comments about Ardeth's kin. Despite his attitude, he greatly respected the Egyptian.

Ardeth's retinue came closer, a carriage in tow, and five Medjai flanking the three noble guests. They stopped a few paces away, and Jols Sr., the stable master, came forth along with his twelve year old son Jols, his namesake who would no doubt take over his father's position when Jols Sr. became too old to do so.

Ardeth greeted Jols and his son heartily, the young boy intimidated and full of awe. The horses were escorted away and greetings begun.

Ardeth and Lancelot embraced.

"It is good to see you, _sadiq_," Ardeth said, holding Lancelot at arms length, his hands on his shoulders.

"You as well, Ardeth," he replied.

"Allow me to introduce my _habeeb_, my wife, Inara," Ardeth said with great pride, his eyes gleaming with love.

A woman stepped forward, long raven hair plaited behind her back. Her onyx eyes were bright, a kindly smile on her face. She was dressed in fine linen breeches and tunic and jerkin. Not really what Lancelot had expected of a noble wife of Ardeth. But it was obvious to him now that Inara was just as down-to-earth as his Egyptian friend.

"It is so good to finally meet you and your brethren, Sir Lancelot," she said, embracing him and giving him a friendly kiss on the cheek. She greeted the rest of the Sarmatians with just as much sincerity and kindliness as Lancelot. She was not even put off by Ahriman's stoic mannerisms.

Lancelot saw that Ardeth obviously adored and worshipped his lovely wife.

"And this is my dear, young sister, Aisha," he also introduced with pride.

Lancelot's breath caught as what he could only call a goddess stepped forward. Her long, obsidian hair was also plaited and shone in the sun. Her skin was golden and flawless, her eyes filled with knowledge and other worldliness he could not define. He did not realize he was staring, entranced with this celestial Egyptian goddess that stood before him in the same fine linen garbs as Ardeth's wife. Her name, Aisha, rang with purity in his ears.

--

Aisha's breath caught, seeing this man, pure man, Lancelot that her brother had told her about. He was so much and more than what she had even imagined. Tall and rugged, well muscled beneath his fine armor. His face was masculine, covered with finely trimmed facial hair. His dark hair was a mass of curls and waves, his dark brown eyes intense as he gazed upon her. The man's lips were inviting and she had to shake the erotic thoughts that surprised her from her mind.

"Aisha?" Ardeth prompted.

She shook her head slightly. "Yes," she collected herself. "It is wonderful to meet you...Lancelot," his name rolling from her tongue like fine honey.

"And you, Aisha," he said, taking her soft hand in his.

Aisha greeted the rest of the men, and like her sister-in-law, not the least intimidated by Ahriman, acknowledging him warmly. Lancelot cleared his voice when Akbar held onto her hand a bit too long.

"Ardeth!"

The Egyptian looked behind the Sarmatian warriors to see young Arthur Castus running towards him, his face alight. Despite his age, Ardeth swung him up in his arms, giving the young boy a hearty hug. He set him down.

"It is good to see you, young man," he said, choosing for the moment not to mention either his mother or father.

"And you, Lord Ardeth," Arthur said.

"Ah, just Ardeth, remember?" he reminded with a smile.

Pelagius approached, arms wide. They embraced. Despite Pelagius's Christian faith, he always treated the Sarmatian warriors and all people equally.

"Wonderful to see you again, my friend," Pelagius said as he enveloped his age-old friend.

Ardeth introduced his Medjai, wife and sister to both Arthur and Pelagius. The day was young and bright.

It was truly only Inara who fully gleaned the immense attraction between Aisha and Lancelot. The look in Lancelot's eyes reminded her of the expression on Ardeth's face when he had first clapped eyes on her over a decade ago. Aisha's face was equally entranced, and no doubt she was beholding the exact veil of enamor that Inara herself had shone with when she had met Ardeth.

Inara recollected a brief conversation she had had with Ardeth before they left.

"Would it not be quite spectacular if Lancelot and Aisha were to be taken with one another?" she had smiled coyly at Ardeth.

Ardeth had stared, taken aback at his wife's words. His mouth opened, then closed, causing a musical laugh to emanate from her.

"Would that be so awful, _habeebee_?"

"Well..." he sought for words, "no...But, where on earth did that notion come from?"

"Oh, I do not know. Aisha is twenty, which is only a few years older than I when I met and married you. She has had so many marriage requests..."

"You know my sister would never marry a man she did not love."

"And she should not. Never you mind, Ardeth. It was only a mere thought. I really do not know why it crossed my mind. _Kismet_...perhaps." Inara was a romantic in the deepest recesses of her heart. With the relationship she had with her husband, how could she not believe in romance?

"Lancelot is a good man," Ardeth said, rubbing his beard. "No matter how far off the conjecture is, if he loved her with all his heart, and she reciprocated those feelings, I would not mind having him for a brother-in-law."

Now, as she was escorted with her husband to the guest quarters in the keep, she imagined and hoped. It was always a heavenly thing, divine, to have one's soul connect with another's for life.

TBC...

Meanings:  
Sadiq – my friend  
Kismet – fate  
Medjai - warrior  
Habeeb – beloved (feminine)  
Habeebee – beloved (masculine)


	2. Learning to Breathe

--Thanks so far for the positive reviews!

**Part II. Learning to Breathe**

_Learning to breathe  
I'm learning to crawl__  
I'm finding that you and you alone  
can break my fall  
I'm living again, awake and alive__  
I'm dying to breathe in these abundant skies  
-Switchfoot_

He shouldn't be thinking about her. But he was. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her throughout dinner, surreptitiously gazing at her with his peripheral vision. Lancelot's heart pounded like a boy bedding his first wench, and couldn't remember the last time a woman had had this effect on his senses. Certainly, he'd had his fair share of women. He didn't take a harem like Akbar, but he was no slouch. Maybe he had just been too long without a female. With Uther dead, it had been his job to step in as the Commander's First Knight. So close to getting their papers...so close. And he could go home...and oddly, he thought that meant he would not see Aisha again. Her name was beautiful. Like her.

Lancelot sat on his bed, staring at his dragon amulet with the ruby eyes. It was always on his person, the only thing of value that he still possessed from his home. His elder brother had had one just like it. They had been close, he and his brother Roshan. Five years younger than Roshan, he had been ten years old when his brother was taken away to Britain. And five years later, he too had been taken. Lancelot had not seen him since then. Six years ago, he had met another troop of Sarmatian soldiers and learned that his brother had thought him dead, and left the island without getting word to him. But at least he knew he was alive. Hopefully he would find him.

The courier would be here in two days with-

A loud banging rattled his door.

"Lance!" Gul, the loudest of them all, yelled on the other side of his door. "Let's get drunk!"

Lancelot rolled his eyes. He was far from in the mood. "Not tonight!" He heard Gul swear and his big feet pound down the hall away from him.

He lay back on his bed, closing his eyes from the dim rays of the sun that were waning from the sky. They reminded him of Aisha.

"And you had the nerve to tell Akbar to behave," he scoffed at himself.

--

"I think I will go for a walk," Aisha said casually.

Inara and Ardeth looked at her from their antechamber.

"Care for some company?" Inara asked.

"No, thank you," she replied. "I just need some air." She quit the room before her brother could give her any lectures on being careful.

"What do you find amusing, Inara?" Ardeth asked his wife.

"Oh, Ardeth!" she said with exaggerated disbelief. She sighed. "Lancelot and Aisha could barely keep their eyes from one another."

"Hmm. Yes." He recalled that clearly. The Egyptian had meant it when he had told his wife that having Lancelot as a brother-in-law would not bother him, but it seemed extremely unlikely, and within a good three weeks, Aisha would probably never see Lancelot again. Getting attached could prove difficult, for the both of them.

--

Aisha walked out of the keep, the sun's rays fading in the distance. It was fairly quiet in the streets; the peoples looked at her curiously as they passed before going along their ways. She smiled kindly at them in return. In a lavender linen dress and cloak she walked among the trails and found herself ascending the stone steps to look out from the wall. She saw one of the guard's eyes follow her, but it bothered her not. She had her dagger, which had been her mother's, hilted on her waist. It was finely made, so shiny and clear that one could see one's reflection.

She went to the corner where she was shielded from sight and gazed upon the vast set of green. In the very distance, there was a small area where goats were grazing. The gentle wind licked her long raven locks that hung free down her back. She breathed in the air, thinking that this was quite a beautiful place.

Dinner had been lovely, the Sarmatian warriors were a good, rambunctious lot, and obviously very excited to be going home. A thrill went down her spine remembering sitting in such close proximity with Lancelot. He had been wearing clean, black leather breeches, tunic and jerkin. His hands were big and strong, and out of the corner of her eyes she had watched his strong jaw chew, his beautiful mouth open and take in the food. He had a wonderful laugh, loud and true, but she also sensed a bit of melancholy from him. But she would not presume; it was simply a passing opinion.

Aisha wondered if he had a loved one here. Perhaps, a woman he would want to take with him back to his homeland?

"Should you be out here alone?"

Her breath caught hearing that voice. She turned with a grin, white teeth flashing.

Lancelot returned her smile, his heart beat picking up. He had seen her walking up the steps just as he exited the keep, changing his mind in taking Gul's invitation. But as if he were hypnotized, thoughts of the tavern fled and he followed Aisha like a love-sick puppy.

He went and stood next to her, she came up to his shoulder.

"I just wanted to view the scenery," she said, her words sounding lame to her ears.

The side of his mouth lifted in a dubious curve. "What do you think of the scenery?" he asked, his eyes boring into hers.

Aisha was captivated, her eyes locked onto his, staring deep, passed his pupils and into his soul. "I think the scenery is very beautiful," she replied in a hushed whisper.

He continued to scrutinize her intensely, dimly aware that his groin had tightened. Aisha licked her lips, her mouth dry. She laughed nervously. To Lancelot's amazement, it dawned on him that she probably did not have very much experience with men. Her eyes bespoke of knowledge, maturity and wisdom, but also kindliness, compassion and a multitude of other things that touched the deepest part of his heart.

Aisha glanced away, and the loss of her regard left him feeling as if a door had been slammed in his face. He wanted to tell her to look at him again and never take her eyes off of him.

_Look at me_, he pleaded silently.

Aisha's eyes flicked back to him without turning her head, and her stomach leaped to her throat. He was still looking at her, inside her. This only happened in fairy tales. This instantaneous reaction, this immediate bonding of souls. Her mother and father had had a loving relationship, she always asked her mother to tell her over and over how she had finally come to marry her father. Her mother was of noble blood, and though her father had certainly been no peasant, her mother's parents had not approved because he had lacked the "proper" lineage. Her mother had staunchly refused to marry anyone without love. It had been her mother's grandmother that had stepped in, a matriarch of the family. The wise old woman had, too, married for love. Well...her mother ended up with her father. And her brother Ardeth had ended up with his Inara. Her eldest brother Memnon...well, she hoped for him. As for she, she would settle for nothing less than the way her father had looked at her mother and the way Ardeth looked at Inara. A bit like...Lancelot was gazing at her now?

"What will you do when you return home?" she asked.

Lancelot's eyes dimmed, turning briefly to the horizon and back to her. He shrugged, his muscles rippling beneath the layers of clothing. "Find my family, I suppose."

Aisha nodded, waiting for him to go on, but not wanting to pressure him.

"I have an older brother," he continued. "He served here, too, but thinking I was dead, I never could get word to him."

Her heart went out to him as she heard the sorrow in his deep voice. Gods, she could not imagine losing her family like he had. Tentatively, she reached out and put her hand atop his which was placed on a stone parapet. His knuckles moved beneath her hand, and she applied more pressure.

Lancelot felt the warmth from her, and though it was such a small touch, it was the most he had felt soothed in so long. The caress of her eyes was like a hug, her gentle smile a brush across his lips.

"My brother said he would do what he could to help you all find your families," she spoke.

"I told him that was not necessary," he said, though gratitude lined his words.

"I am sure he did not hear you."

Lancelot laughed. "I agree." He was aware that her hand was still upon his.

"Are you taking anyone here with you?"

His brow rose slightly. The question was asked casually, but he felt relieved he could reassure her that he had no one. "No."

Her hand slid from his and she nodded. "All this time here, and no one to love?"

Lancelot was startled. "Well..."

Aisha was guileless in her watch. "I'm sorry, that was none of my business."

"It's quite all right," he assured her.

"No," she shook her head. "That was entirely presumptuous of me."

He knew she was falling back, taking his breath with him and he hurried to find words that would keep her there with him. "Anyone would think that. There's a presumption on my part." He hoped his smile was an encouraging one.

She was silent for a moment, and tipped her head to the side. "Well...perhaps you shall find your one in Sarmatia then."

_My one_, he repeated in his head. "Do you have a 'one' in Egypt?" He did his best to hide the tic in his jaw. Oh, he was definitely acting like a love-sick idiot.

"No," she told him with absolute conviction.

Lancelot tried for jest. "Well, then, surely you have many suitors vying for your attentions."

Aisha snorted derisively in an unladylike fashion and waved her hand dismissively at the notion. "I have yet to find a man who catches more than my eye. And I am not looking either. When it happens, it will happen."

He had to stop this wading of his into dangerous territory. Whatever perfumes the breeze was blowing off of her captivated his senses, like a healing balm on his long-tired spirits. The sun was further fading, and a chill was passing through the air, though his insides were warmer than he could remember.

Aisha shivered.

"You should go inside," he said, "so you do not catch a chill," he added hastily, not wanting her to think he was dismissing her.

"Perhaps. I think I will check on Thema. I have not seen her since earlier today." She turned, then said, "Would you like to meet her?"

"I would."

As they walked down the wall and steps, she said, "It is my understanding that Sarmatians believe knights are reincarnated as horses?"

There was no mockery in her voice. "That is our belief," he said.

"I think that is nice. There are worse things to return as."

Lancelot laughed heartily. Boldly, he offered her his arm, and she placed her hands in the bend of his elbow.

"What animal would you want to return as?" he asked her.

She paused, then she answered seriously, "A hawk. The male and female build their nests together, and mate for life."

TBC...


	3. Born Free

**Part III. Born Free**

_Born free to follow your heart.__  
Stay free where no walls divide you__  
Born free and life is worth living,  
but only worth living,__  
Because you're born free.  
-Frank Sinatra_

Without Uther Castus there, it was Lancelot's job to dole out their freedom papers. He was standing, his goblet of wine untouched, his fingertips touching the finely constructed box. Only minutes ago the men were cheering for their freedom, but now they sat quietly, waiting to touch that glorious parchment that would give them what they had each yearned for from the first time they set foot on these lands. Lancelot barely knew what he was saying to his comrades, brothers-in-arms as he opened the box, revealing the scrolls. Any words seemed insufficient.

With great reverence, he walked to each man and gave them their scrolls before taking his seat once again. No one unraveled their paper. It was held lightly in their hands as they stared, almost bemused...how could a simple piece of paper with mere inked words declare a human being that he was a free man?

It was Gul that broke the silence. He lifted his goblet, raised it in the air and cried out: "RUS!"

The men echoed his cheer before drinking the rest of their wine. Even Ahriman could not conceal the hint of gladdened feelings. They gave praise to the fallen knights and their Commander. It was all so long and so short. Truly, their years here had done nothing auspicious for them. They had been taken to defend land they cared not for, peoples of an empire that treated them as little more than slaves. Lancelot thought he should be happier; these dark clouds should not be hovering over him at this time. No! He should be ecstatic! Grateful to the gods that he survived.

Suddenly, the armor on his chest felt like boulders on his person, the wine stuck in his throat like bile. Or maybe it was bile. But he hid these gloomy feelings from his friends, although he could see that the same ruminations had not failed to cross their minds as well.

"To the tavern!" Behram announced.

With great enthusiasm they filed out of the large room, away from the round table they had sat at for so many years, discussing tactics for war, or paying homage to a fallen soldier after a funeral. Ahriman was the last to leave.

The scout turned. "Lancelot. You coming?"

It was odd, Lancelot could say, that out of all of them, it was Ahriman he understood the most, despite the eccentricities of the Iazyges tribe. It mattered not to him.

"What will you do when you return home?" Lancelot could not see Ahriman's eyes underneath the scout's unruly brown bangs that covered the top half of his face, but he knew those golden-brown irises of his were locked onto him from across the room.

Ahriman let the door close and took a few silent steps forward. He lifted a lazy shoulder, almost as if he did not care.

"You have family to find, do you not?" Lancelot asked.

He crossed his arms over his chest, he nodded. "A sister. Her son."

Lancelot had known that, a few years ago a boy from the Iazyges tribe had been stationed at the fortress (he survived for two years, dying at the age of 17), and had given Ahriman a message from his sister – to everyone's surprise. No one had known Ahriman even had any family, so private was the scout.

Ahriman tipped his head to the side; looking at the man he would call a friend, if he had had any real friends, that is. All the men thought he was some amoral demon. And perhaps that might be close to the truth, but he had never stopped caring for his little sister, Laleh, and had been happy to know that she was still alive and had borne a healthy son by the name of Tristan. An odd name, not Sarmatian sounding in the least. Ahriman would do his best to find them, provided they were still living in the same area she had conveyed to him those long years ago.

"I hope you find them," Lancelot said.

Lancelot was afforded a slight grin from the scout. "I will die trying." He nodded in goodbye and left the room.

He sat back on his chair heavily, and after a moment took the binding off the scroll and opened it. Lancelot could read Latin, but the words on the paper made so little sense to him at the moment. Did it truly matter what the Roman Empire had to say about his status in life now? He was going home. His time here was done. And despite the people who would be around him – he would be going home alone, just as he had come.

"_All this time here...and no one to love?"_

Aisha's words echoed in his mind with stark clarity. She had said those words to him two days ago and their impact on him had not lessened. In three days they would be leaving here...

--

Aisha wondered if Lancelot had finished speaking with his brother knights, celebrating the end to their service for Rome. She dreamed about him, and was baffled why her feelings were so strong for this man she had only met two days ago. She tried not to entertain the idea of them falling in love or marrying, he would stay in Sarmatia and she would go back to Egypt, an ocean apart. He would marry a good woman, have children and live his life. No, nothing would ever happen between them. How childish of her to think so.

"Aisha?" Ardeth knocked gently on the door and entered when his sister answered. "Are you all right?"

She smiled up at her brother as he took the seat next to her in front of the fire. "I am well," she said.

"You have been quiet all day," he mentioned. "I cannot help but think something is amiss."

Aisha laughed at his jesting. "No, no, just thinking is all."

"Hmm."

She knew that sound of her brother's. It meant he knew exactly what was on her mind. He and Inara very likely talking behind her back.

"When did you know you were in love with Inara?" she blurted.

Most men would have been taken aback at such a question, discussing such romantic events in a man's life with his sister, but Ardeth was no ordinary man, and was not so full of false-pride that he could not speak of it. "My heart knew instantly, but it can take a bit for the mind to catch up with feelings it has never before encountered."

Aisha always took her brother's words to heart; he was one of the wisest men she knew. If she ever had children, but by some tragedy had to leave them behind, it would be Ardeth she would want them to learn from thereafter.

Ardeth leaned forward and squeezed his sister's hand affectionately. "Your time will come," he said.

--

Lancelot sat outside of the tavern, with a full cup of ale he had yet to drink. Some of the cheer of the men had touched him; the music and the dancing around buoyed his spirits. Yet, he felt something was missing. He wanted someone important next to him, and the only person that came to mind was-

"Can I sit?"

His heart stilled and resumed beating furiously as he gazed up at his Egyptian goddess.

"Of course." He was probably smiling like a fool as he found another chair for her.

Aisha sat down next to him, absorbed in the festivities.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked her.

Some of the happiness left her face. "Oh...I..."

"Not that I am not happy to see you," he assured her quickly. He had never been so tongue-tied around a woman before. "I was actually just thinking about you."

Her eyes lit up. "You were?"

He felt bold. "Yes."

"I was thinking of you, too. Which is why I came out here." Was it just her or did it seem like it was only the two of them? The singing, the dancing, the jesting going on was a mere background.

Lancelot was not aware of anything but Aisha. She looked splendid in another one of her simple, cotton dresses. She did not show off her riches, and the only reason why she stood out was because she was the most beautiful woman in the fortress, in Britain, in the world. The only piece of jewelry she wore was a silver ankh around her neck laid against her velvety skin that was visible from the V of her dress.

Aisha was bumped forward when a drunk stumbled behind her.

"Watch it!" Lancelot said.

The man turned about to flame a profane retort, but he recognized Lancelot's face and blubbered an apology before shuffling away.

"I apologize," he said to her. "Everyone is getting lost in their cups."

"It's all right. People in Egypt get quite drunk, too."

"Would you like to go for a walk?" He wanted nothing more than to be alone with her. Away from the smell of whores and alcohol.

"I would love that."

Before he could take two steps a woman threw herself into his arms, and her lips against his mouth. "Lancelot! My love!"

He wanted to wipe the taste of her off of his mouth. She smelled like men and sex.

"Venus," he said. That was not the woman's real name; no one knew her real name.

Venus smiled coyly at him, completely unaware of his discomfort or the woman next to him. "Will you be coming to my room to celebrate your new-found freedom?"

Lancelot's jaw clenched tightly, never so embarrassed in his life. He had never bedded this woman, despite all her advances on his person. At another table, Akbar saw what was happening and stepped forward for his friend. All of the knights could see the way Lancelot looked at Aisha. Normally it would have been he vying for Aisha's attentions, but he knew for certain he would never be able to get her underneath him, so he settled for flirtations with the Egyptian woman.

"Leave him be, my sweet," Akbar told her. "I have better things to offer."

Venus laughed. "You will drown in your conceit, Akbar!" With the most handsome and best lover of the knights, Lancelot was forgotten.

"You owe me," Akbar said to him in Sarmatian.

Lancelot led Aisha away from the tavern, breathing in the clear air. There were no words he could say, they walked slowly under the moonlit night, finding themselves in the garden. He started when he felt Aisha's hands curl around his elbow, feeling the heat of her flesh through his tunic.

"The tavern here is very much like one near my home in Egypt."

"You frequent taverns?" he said, his eyebrows rose.

"Well," she chuckled, "when I am in town I visit one of the cooks there."

"I see," he smiled and nodded knowingly. They continued to walk in quiet, him feeling much more at ease, the debacle of a few minutes ago receding from his discontent.

"Are you happy?" she asked him. "To have gotten your papers?"

He offered to sit on a bench surrounded by bushes of daisies, comforted that she did not take her hands from him as she sat close to him.

"I feel happier for my brothers," he finally said.

The wind whispered by them, she moved her hand down to entwine her fingers with his. The contrasts from his big, rough hand to her smaller, smoother one. "You have a good heart, Lancelot," she said, her eyes locked on his reverently. "During the times I've spent with you these past few days, I am certain of that."

Lancelot placed his free hand over hers, not wanting to let go and savor this connection that he felt anchored him to the world. No one had ever told him such a thing with so much sincerity. Oftentimes, a leader is taken for granted. When one soldier dies, it lies on the Commander. Uther was a good leader, but he was still a Roman hurtling Sarmatians into battle. And somehow, along the years, his kin had begun to turn to him for guidance. Sometimes, trusting him more than their Commander to lead them.

He wanted bridge the short distance from his mouth to hers. Would she accept a mere soldier's kiss? Her lips, so full and soft. Unkissed? That he did not know. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the very tips of his fingers running against her soft skin. Why this woman and not the countless others he had met? This woman, who was so very close, but felt far away from his possession.

He had had a lot of things stripped from his possession in his life. He had learned not to want, and only took what he needed to survive. The Romans had taken much, but never his mind. And oddly, on this day when he was granted this so-called freedom, one of the most essential things to his existence had been stolen – his heart. And he had lost it to this woman before him.

It was a new beginning for him. He would have to start another life. He did not want to be alone anymore.

"Lancelot," Aisha said his name so softly.

"My heart is beating too damned fast," he said, his voice husky.

Aisha brought her palm to his chest, and felt the rapid drumming beneath. She took his hand, and put it over her heart. He felt the curves of her breasts, and her heart, too, resonating against his palm. Lancelot kissed her knuckles with care. His forehead was touching hers, he heard her breathing, and he knew she could hear the fast breaths that were coming from his lungs.

_Kiss her Lancelot_, he yelled inside his head. But why begin this when they would part and never see each other again? If he kissed her he would not stop, and for the rest of his life, if he could never feel her lips again he would go mad with wanting...and needing.

"There is no wall between us," she whispered.

Lancelot shut his eyes, then opened them. With more tenderness than he had ever given, for the first time since he could remember – he took what he wanted. He took what he needed. And it was all the more sweet, because she had given it to him.

TBC...


	4. Day Has Come

**Part IV. Day Has Come**

_Well the day has come to where__  
I've never thought of anyone__  
Quite as much as I think of you__  
As the days go by I never wonder why  
__I just know it's true  
And I never would have thought__  
That anyone could love me like you do  
-Hanson_

That kiss lingered on his lips throughout the night, to the next day, and when it kept with him until the next afternoon, he knew it would stay with him forever. Just one kiss was all it took, short, but the effect was long. Aisha and Lancelot spent their free moments together when Lancelot was not preparing with his brothers-in-arms for the journey the day after next. Ardeth helped them; leaving Inara to spend time with Pelagius and young Arthur, and Aisha would join them occasionally.

Arthur was an avid learner, inquisitive and for one so young had an abundant amount of faith despite the losses he had endured. Much of that was owed to his mentor and the God that he believed in. Arthur had never been to Rome before and was excited to make his place in his father's birthplace. There, he would receive his education and train to be the Commander of Sarmatian troops that he knew he would someday be.

In the evening, Ardeth was composing a letter to his brother Memnon that would have to be delivered once he returned to Egypt. For the passed few days, finding the Egyptian in his free moments, Arthur would track him down, loving to speak to the man whom he considered one of the best scholars and warriors. He thought it rare that one could balance the two so agreeably.

"Ah, come in, Arthur," Ardeth said when he heard the knock on the door.

Arthur poked his head in. "How did you know it was me?"

He chuckled. "There is no one who knocks so politely on a door."

Arthur flushed.

"Sit, sit," he said. He got up and took a seat in front of the brazier.

"Are you not busy?" he asked, his eyes flicked towards the desk.

"Not at all, I was just finishing." He gestured to the chair and Arthur sat down.

Knowing that the man was not busy, Arthur began barraging him with questions of Egypt and the various places he had visited in his life. The conversation turned to Arthur's journey to Rome.

"I will be learning so many things, Lord Ardeth!" Arthur exclaimed.

Ardeth smiled at the young boy, he was ever forgetting to not tack on "Lord" to his name.

"I mean Ardeth," Arthur quickly corrected himself.

"What are you most eager to learn?" the Egyptian asked him.

"Hmm...I would love to learn more about freedom and equality. What do you think of those things?"

Ardeth paused before answering, replying seriously, "Those are two important, yet rare, things in life."

"Pelagius said that men are not born to be slaves."

"That is entirely true," Ardeth replied gravely.

"But..." he hesitated.

"You needn't censor yourself with me, Arthur," the elder man assured him gently.

He bit his lower lip. "But it is contradictory, knowing that men are not born to be slaves, and believing that all men are created equal, but...I will one day be leading a group of warriors that will be taken from their homes..."

Ardeth waited for him to continue. He could tell the boy was very conflicted.

"Would that not be...what's the word...abdicating...?

"Advocating?"

"Yes!" Arthur said. "Would that not be advocating the very opposite of what I am learning?"

"In your heart and mind, if you truly believe in freedom and equality, I do not think that means you are advocating such a thing. The Sarmatian men have been taken from their homes for so long, there is slavery in so many parts of the world...one person cannot put an end to such an atrocity."

"What can anyone do then?"

"Change starts with one belief, and holding to it no matter what. It is difficult to keep faith and hope, but we must better ourselves before we can better the world. When you become a commander, you must not lose faith in your convictions. Change is like a ripple in a lake, one person dips their finger into the water and that one touch spreads and expands to further reaches."

"Ardeth?"

Ardeth and Arthur turned around to see Inara standing in the doorway.

"Oh!" she said. "I'm sorry. Hello, Arthur."

"Hello, Lady Inara. I mean Inara." He blushed when the pretty Egyptian woman smiled at him. "I think I will go find Pelagius." He bid them both farewells.

Inara stepped into the room, shut and locked the door behind her.

"Ah, yes, come sit with me, _habibati_," he said. He pulled her gently by the wrist and sat her upon his lap. She encircled her arms around his neck and kissed him lovingly on the forehead.

He smelled of male heat and spices, the ting of Egypt never gone from his body. She ran the tips of her fingers through his air and was met with a very low rumble of content from his throat. Ardeth wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, nuzzling her neck, his beard tickling her smooth skin. The breeze blew outside and they were peaceful in each other's arms.

"Oh, have we not had enough of that?" she teased when his hand cupped her breast.

He chuckled against her neck. "No, I think not. I can never have enough."

She gave a quivering sigh. "You kept me late into bed this morning."

"You woke me up twice during the night," he reminded her, lifting her dress, his hand sliding up her bare thigh to palm the side of her buttocks.

Their passion for one another had not waned during the course of their marriage. It had grown and deepened through many separations when Ardeth was away on some campaign or another, or when his meetings ran late into the night. During the times when Inara was on bed rest after a miscarriage. Every time they made love was as ardent as their wedding night.

The Egyptian had never known true fear until he had seen Inara with the blood of their child seeping through her dress. Her skin had lost all color; she had lost so much blood...nothing could have prepared him for such a horror. He would not leave her bedside; he was not present at any meetings and cared not what others had to say. Even when his older brother Memnon would look at him with that chastising glare, he would meet those identical eyes with as much challenge.

His wife was moist between the juncture of her legs; he felt her clench around his two fingers, her liquids saturating his own flesh.

"Ardeth..." His name was half want, half warning on her lips.

His fingers moved expertly and deftly, his thumb playing against her swollen nub to bring her to that fevered pitch of climax he loved to hear from her. Inara's own hand was finding its way down his breeches, clasping his thick, long sex, feeling the blood pulse beneath the sensitive layer of skin.

Ardeth whispered terms of endearment in her ears as she shifted so she could grasp onto him better. She came once more and he let her sink to her knees in front of him.

--

Aisha and Lancelot were heading passed the office to the outer gardens, where they often walked and talked, when they heard a groan inside. Aisha stopped, not quite sure what she had heard correctly. When it was beyond evident what was going on, she could not help but pass a glance to see what Lancelot's reaction was. His own eyebrows were raised, and he smiled when Aisha blushed.

"Well," he said, as they continued passed the door.

Aisha laughed uncomfortably. Hearing her brother and his wife making love reminded her very much of her own aroused feelings whenever she was in Lancelot's company. They had not kissed since that night, and the sooner the day of their departure approached, the more she worried about what might happen between the two of them. They would have little privacy on the journey to Glevum, and then there would the ship...then...his homeland. And she would very likely never see him again.

Lancelot noticed Aisha's face go from amused to troubled. "Is something wrong?"

She was brought out of her solemn reverie. "No, not at all," she assured with little conviction. When they reached the gardens, she paused and plucked a daisy from the ground. Absently, she twirled it in her fingers.

He wanted to kiss her again, knowing they were near the bench where he had first done so. He learned more about her, deepening his feelings for her. Aisha was kind, warmhearted, caring, funny...she had the most beautiful laugh, was not afraid to get dirt on her dress, loved horses as much as he. She could jest with his brother knights with ease and treated everyone with respect. And was quite deft with the dagger she carried with her. She spoke Latin, Arabic, Greek and to his pleasant surprise, Sarmatian, which her brother Ardeth had tutored her in. He loved how a wisp of hair constantly fell from her locks and she was ever tucking it back behind her ear.

He was not blind to her physical attributes either. Her hips swayed flawlessly as she walked, her movements were graceful, her dark brown eyes twinkled when she smiled and he would imagine that those flecks of glitter were just for him. In her presence he felt young again; the weariness of war was lifted from his shoulders.

"I have never seen Ardeth act as he does," he commented good-naturedly. The two sat down upon their bench.

Aisha laughed. "Yes. One would not recognize the different between my brother the warrior, and my brother the husband. Like my _walide_."

"How so?"

"My _walide_ adored my _walida_. And she him. It is a common tradition in my family."

"Which is?"

Aisha stared him in the eyes for a brief moment. "Marrying someone you love." When he said nothing, only returning her deep gaze, she continued, "No cares for riches or station. Just respect, faith, belief, love." She turned away and looked down at the flower in her hand. "My great-grandmother said that a family fares better when it is borne out of love and not duty. Perhaps you think that is romantic drivel..."

"No," he said lightly. Truly he had never thought too deeply about such a thing. He did not care much for what went on in the Roman's lives here, but thinking back on it, he could not remember a time when he might have seen a marriage that was not political. "It is...rare...probably."

She nodded.

"And you would not settle for anything less." It was a statement, not a question.

"Nothing less," she replied.

He ached to take her hand again.

"You said you would find your family when you returned home," she spoke. "Will you marry in time?"

Lancelot tried to shrug nonchalantly, but he could not think of marrying another woman than the one that was beside him. The unspoken words were forever between them. They had known one another so short a time, it was unrealistic to try to speak of a future together. And yet, they did not have the time to not speak about it. He did not want to leave her. How he wished he could court her like she deserved. But he had nothing to offer her. A mere soldier, no true home...he could not keep her in a lifestyle in which she was accustomed. So many buts...they plagued him incessantly.

"Lancelot," she said his name, taking his hand, "what will you do, and I would never wish it so, if you cannot find your family?"

He saw the sorrow in her eyes if that was to be the case for him. He knew this was a woman who would give up her own wants and needs for another's. "That I do not know, Ish."

Aisha smiled wide at the shortening of her name. Then she laughed.

"What?" he asked her.

"Do you know what that means? The shortening of my name – Ish?"

"Tell me." He held her hand tighter.

"It means 'sweet' or 'my sweet'."

"You are."

"Sweet?"

He shook his head. "My sweet." The words were barely out of his mouth before he could snatch them back.

"I like that," Aisha interjected before he could take it back.

Then he kissed her hand. "Do you think we could just spend this time together...here, on the way to Glevum...on the ship...?" _Just let me be with you_...were his unsaid words. "I find it hard to let you go." _Tell me you feel the same...Let this not just be in my heart..._

"I am not so easy to push away," she told him. "I will be here for you."

TBC...

--

**Thanks everyone for the positive comments thus far! :)**


	5. My Home

**Part V. My Home**

_This place is many things__  
but I'd never call it home__  
It's just a building in a city__  
everywhere I go__  
This place is many things  
__but I can't call it home  
-Thousand Foot Krutch_

It was early and still dark when they arose to depart. Water was splashed on their faces; warm, clean clothes were donned. The knights' rooms were barren save for a simple bed and table in each. What had been their home for a decade or more. It would not be missed.

In the stables, Jols and his son were preparing the horses. Two horses would pull the wagon which held the knights' belongings along with Ardeth's, Inara's, and Aisha's. Arthur and Pelagius were there to bid them goodbye, they would be leaving for Rome in a month.

When everyone was ready, they mounted their horses and headed down the trail that would take them to and out the main gates. Once the horses were in a full run, the men did not glance back. This would be the last time they would gallop down this dirt road and out of this gate. This might have been the place they had lived, but it was not their home and not to be mourned. In the distance, they could see the graveyard where the fallen knights were. And as the sun rose then, the rays hit the iron blades impaled in each grave, a beacon from beyond.

After a few hours they slowed for a break and to give the horses rest. Ahriman went off to find a decent place and Lancelot sidled up to Aisha.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I should be asking you that," she replied. "Are you the least sad about leaving?"

In the front they heard Akbar scoff. He turned around and gave Aisha a winning smile and urged his horse around to sidle up on the other side of Aisha. She did not see the sneer of warning Lancelot gave him.

"I assure you, none of us are going to miss that hellhole," he said to her.

"It is the wenches we'll miss!" Gul sounded.

The men laughed.

"Sweet Mina," Levon mused. "She had a rear end of perfection...firm breasts..."

Ahead of everyone else, Inara smirked at Ardeth as they overheard the conversation.

"We do not need to know," Lancelot quipped, thinking of Aisha.

"No, tell me of your ladies," she said.

"Aisha." Now Ardeth imposed himself into the conversation. He sent his sister a half-chastising look, and earned a laugh and dismissive wave from her. He shook his head in mock-surrender.

"I apologize on behalf of my cousin here, my ladies," Sevan said.

"Oh, I am no stranger to the laments of men about women," Inara voiced, her melodic tone reaching to the very back where three Medjai were.

Vreg, of the Veltae tribe leaned over to his closest friend Melek. "Do these Medjai ever speak?"

Before Behram could speak up and hush them one of the Egyptian warriors said, "We understand you perfectly enough." He and his comrades shared amused looks.

"What are the women like in Egypt?" Levon asked. "If they are anything like these two Egyptian beauties, I shall visit their homeland."

Inara and Aisha laughed.

Lancelot muttered something to Levon. "Mind yourself."

Aisha leaned towards him with an assuring smile. "It is quite all right, Lancelot."

"Eh," he grumbled, but quieted.

They were all saved from further confrontation when Ahriman galloped up and conferred with Lancelot. Within a quarter of an hour they were at the appointed spot near a plush, green open copse and a fresh creek. They dismounted and let their horses graze. The two horses pulling the cart were let loose to do the same. The men went off to relieve themselves, and when they came back there was a small picnic ready for them.

"Well, I never!" Gul exclaimed. "It is certainly nice to have ladies accompany us and bestow such food upon us!"

The men thanked them and heartily dug into the meal. It was a clear, cool day and they were relieved for the rest.

Ardeth conversed with Lancelot, one leader to another, about their journey.

Inara noticed that Ahriman was a bit away off by himself eating slices of an apple that he cut off with his dagger. She approached him. "Do you not want a bit more food?"

Ahriman was surprised she had spoken to him. He always thought that nobles were snooty and self-centered, and though Ardeth never was, sometimes women were inherently different. But Ardeth's sister and wife were not what he had expected. And Lancelot was besotted with Aisha. He noticed the look on his friend's face the moment he clapped eyes on the Egyptian woman. Ahriman was not usually taken aback at anything, but at this he was. But after being around Aisha for a bit, he could understand why Lancelot would be attracted to her. Certainly she was comely enough, although his feelings went no further than that.

"I am fine, thank you," he said, trying to make his usually gruff, clipped voice mellow.

"Are you sure?" she persisted. "Does one apple sustain you? You did not even have breakfast."

Ahriman's golden-brown eyes intensified. How had she known that?

"Come," she told him. "You at least need a slice of bread and cheese. Apples are tasteful, but we have a ways to go and that is not enough to go on." When he hesitated, her face tightened. "That was not a request. I insist."

Hesitantly, he went with her to the blanket where food was laid out, and she gave him bread and cheese. "There we are. I will not have to worry about you keeling over on your horse from lack of nourishment."

Ahriman saw that she was genuine in her concerns. "Thank you."

She smiled, white teeth flashing. "You are welcome. Eat every bit now." She glanced at the rest of them. "That goes for the rest of you! Ardeth! You have not eaten."

Hearing someone order Ardeth around, all the men tried to stifle their chuckles. But the Egyptian grinned lovingly at his wife and ate the proffered food.

Lancelot could not help but steal a glance at Aisha, who was looking at her brother and sister-in-law with fondness at what they shared.

--

At length, the journey continued as it had begun. During the nights around the fire, Aisha would play her _nei_ for them, and the Medjai and Sarmatians swapped war stories.

But on the sixth day, Ahriman said the one word that Lancelot did not ever want to hear: "Woads!"

There was a hiss of an arrow shooting through the air. Lancelot's horse reared back, the arrow missing the mount's neck by a hair. He stayed on the horse with finesse, unsheathing his swords from his back just as the horse's hooves touched the ground again. Aisha could not help but notice and glance with admiration.

Three Medjai flanked Aisha and Inara. Ahriman shot arrow for arrow for each Woad, the blue colored warriors dropping in a fatal faint. The Medjai shot with expert accuracy as they protected the two women as expertly as a roof protects a house from rain. Woads ran out from the woods, eager for close combat. With arrows expended, men were on their feet, axes and swords clanging against one another.

Then, Inara screeched as an arrow narrowly missed her face.

"Inara!" Ardeth yelled.

The Medjai hasted to take the women off of their horses so they would be encircled by them.

Aisha wished she had her sword. She only had her dagger and another in her boot which she bent down and took in her other hand. She could not just stand here and do nothing! As for Inara, she was a healer by nature. Her late-father was a respected physician and nobody knew more about herbs than her late-mother.

Aisha saw a Woad racing to Levin who had his back turned. She aimed her dagger and threw, the blade catching the Woad in the side of his neck. Levin turned, wondering who threw that. He killed the Woad. She broke through the barricade to run and retrieve her dagger. A Woad came after her and she rolled to duck – her?! – blow. She raised herself up from the ground, gutting the woman, blood sprinkling on her face.

Then, Lancelot was beside her.

"Stay near me," he said to her. The very thought of her injured churned his stomach.

The green field was strewn with dead bodies and blood. The battle ended, the Woads lost.

Ardeth rushed to Inara and embraced, his hands cupping her face, looking over for any wounds.

"_Habibati_," he crooned.

"I am fine, Ardeth," she assured him. "How did you fare?" Her face was concerned.

"Not a scratch," he said. He turned to his three Medjai and thanked them for protecting his wife.

"Are you all right?" Lancelot asked Aisha. "What the hell were you thinking?" He hugged her so tightly she lost her breath. "Gods what if something had happened to you?"

"Hell, Lance," Levin said. "She saved my life! Damned good aim," he complimented her.

Lancelot saw to it that his men were all in one piece. Save for a few cuts and bruises, they were well.

The sun was waning and they found a secluded place to camp for the night. Inara and Aisha attained water from a stream, filling buckets. There was an ample fire going. The men went to the stream, stripped their armor and clothes to wash the blood off before donning a fresh pair of garments.

"Let me see you all," Inara said.

The Medjai assured her they were fine, they were used to Inara's caring.

"That was _not_ a request!" she snapped. Inara cleaned any cuts they had and wrapped them tenderly. "You all as well," she said to the Sarmatians who looked at one another in shock.

"We're not used to having such a beautiful lady tend to us in the fields," Akbar extolled, reveling in Inara's attention.

Aisha helped with the mending. "Do you need anything?" she asked Lancelot.

"No, I have only a scratch."

"Let me see," she insisted when he tried to protest. It was indeed a shallow laceration but she cleaned and wrapped it in clean gauze nonetheless.

"Ahriman?" Inara approached the quiet warrior, the only one who had not taken time to clean himself up.

The braided-hair man was about to mount his horse to make a check around the perimeter of the camp. The ever vigilant Inara had noticed the man slightly hunched over and was concerned for his welfare.

"Take a moment and rest," she said.

"When I return," he replied patiently.

"You are hurt," she said bluntly.

"I can manage."

"Aye!" Gul's raised voice met them. "I've seen him with an arrow in his shoulder and he didn't even notice!"

"Had to point it out to him!" added Behram.

"Young man, you are not going anywhere until I inspect your wound." The last three words were punctuated with authority that brooked absolutely no argument.

Ahriman's mouth was an open slit, ready to decline again.

"She is right, Ahriman," Lancelot said, walking over. "Levin and Sevan will make a sweep of the area first. You cannot exacerbate your injury." As the commander, Ahriman could do nothing but comply.

He expelled a rush of air and took off his hauberk, masking the pain in his side.

"Oh my," Inara said, seeing his blood soaked tunic. "Sit down here. Aisha, will you bring my kit please? And some warm water."

"Just a scratch," he mumbled, a bit embarrassed at the attention, as he took off his tunic, his bare chest revealing scars from past battles. Behram got him a clean tunic from his bag.

Inara made soft clucking noises as she dipped a cloth into the warm water, dabbing at the dried blood gently. "A scratch indeed," she whispered to him.

When Ahriman saw her preparing to stitch it up, he was about to, once again, protest.

Inara slapped the top of his hand that was attempting to cover the wound. "You sit still!" she commanded.

The men chuckled, and Ahriman shot them all a deadly glare.

When Inara was finished she said, "That was not so bad, now was it?"

Ahriman grumbled something close to a thank you as she wrapped his torso with a bandage. He carefully put on the clean tunic.

Food was prepared, the tents were put up, and they each turned in one by one. Lancelot instructed the order for watches, the Medjai would take their turns as well. When all quieted, hoots of owls and the whooshing of the wind against the tents was all that was heard.

Ardeth and Inara spoke quietly in their tent.

"My heart nearly stopped," Ardeth said quietly, thinking of the arrow that had nearly felled her.

"I am alive and well, _habibi_," she said, caressing his cheek.

But nevertheless, he had to touch her, be inside of her. His eyes were certain of her words, but his heart and soul needed reassurance, too.

In their separate tents, Aisha and Lancelot heard the soft sounds of the couple's lovemaking. They both closed their eyes and imagined it was they in the same tent, declaring their love in a bodily way, whispering sweet laments in one another's ears.

TBC...


	6. Anywhere Is

**Part VI. Anywhere Is**

_It should be one direction __  
It could be on reflection __  
The turn I have just taken __  
The turn that I was making__  
I might be just beginning__  
I might be near the end  
-Enya_

They had arrived in town a few hours ago and Lancelot was exhausted. The first thing he and his men did was head to the bath houses to wipe the filth and sweat from their bodies. When they had ridden into town, the sight of the large ship docked at the harbor had his heart thumping erratically. The ship that would take them back to Sarmatia in two days time. He barely had time to think when there was a knocking on his door.

"What?" he called.

Gul burst in with gusto, not surprising to Lancelot. "We have a problem."

Lancelot groaned and got up. "What is it?"

"Levon," Gul said.

They walked from Lancelot's guest room at the inn and when they approached Levon's room which he was sharing with Sevan.

"You're not going anywhere!" Sevan yelled.

"I should never have come!" Levon retorted.

Lancelot saw the latter sitting on the end of his bed, head in hands. The rest of the men were in there as well, watching the spectacle.

"Ah, Lancelot, thank the gods," Sevan with exasperation. "You've got to tell him he's being an idiot!"

"Tell me what's going on first," Lancelot replied.

"The fool wants to go back to the fort!"

Levon shot a dirty look at his cousin.

"Why?" Lancelot asked Levon.

"Mina," Sevan scoffed.

"Who?"

"You know, Mina! Firm breasts...blah blah..."

Mina, the woman that Levon had lamented about when they'd left the fort.

Behram muttered to Lancelot, "She's having his kid."

Lancelot's brow rose in surprise.

"I'll ride back to her," Levon said, "I shouldn't have left her in the first place."

"If she really wanted you she'd have come with you!" Sevan snapped.

"She wanted to have the baby first!" Levon defended his lady love. Then he looked up at Lancelot contritely, "I'm sorry, Lance, but...I never shoulda left her."

He nodded slowly. "You sure you want to go back? We came all this way..."

"What?!" Sevan's eyes opened as wide as saucers. "You're on his side? Order him to come with us!"

"I'm not his commander anymore," Lancelot told him.

"No one is going to put some sense into his thick head?" Sevan exclaimed looking around the room. "Ahriman? Say something! You're the realist here!"

Ahriman, leaning against the wall, cocked an eyebrow and shrugged one shoulder lazily.

"You're all useless!" Sevan berated them. "You're not going back," – he thrust a finger in his cousin's direction – "I'll drag you on that fucking ship if I have to. We didn't spend fifteen years here for you to end up staying!"

"I don't have anything in Sarmatia anyway!" Levon's voice rose. "My family is long dead, and Mina is going to have my family..."

"Bah! Like I said, if she loved you so much she'd have come with you."

"Her mother is dying, she didn't want to leave her. She said she would go anywhere with me after her mother passed, but I...I didn't want to wait..."

"And you shouldn't!"

"But what's another year or what not if I get to be with her?" Levon was almost speaking to himself.

The room grew quiet.

"Don't really matter where I am, as long as I'm with her and my child. Sarmatia ain't my home, Sevan, hasn't been for a long time. There's no way in hell it can be anything like it was when we left."

Sevan pursed his lips and gazed around the room again, pleading for some assistance. But the other knights seemed to sympathize with Levon and his musings.

Melek spoke, "If he wants to stay, let him stay." He ignored Sevan's eyes that spewed venom at him.

Sevan cursed under his breath.

"Do you really want to go back?" Lancelot asked Levon.

"Yeah...I do."

Lancelot nodded. It was rare to find someone to love...and Levon was even going to have a child with Mina. Thoughts he had had about Aisha. The idea of calling Sarmatia home again didn't always ring true with him either. How the hell would he find his brother? And if he had kids...sons...they would be taken away from him someday.

Sevan stalked out of the room.

Vreg patted Levon on the back. "Well...have fun being in baby shit up to your arms."

The men laughed half-heartedly. They were all thinking of what Levon had said about Sarmatia and home.

----

Night had fallen, Levon and Sevan still were not speaking to each other as the latter was still convinced that the former would change his mind. The entire scene had Lancelot wanting to be in Aisha's presence more than anything; he was comforted by her, rooted, and solidified. After that night hearing Ardeth and Inara making love in their tent, it was all he could do to tamp down the wanton fantasies that continued to spring to his mind involving him and Aisha rolling around in a large, soft bed, she underneath him, her thighs locked around his waist as he thrust into-

"Lancelot?"

He was startled out of his reverie by the voice of the woman he had just been thinking of. He was sitting on the sandy beach, hearing the waves crash against the dunes and the moon reflect against the ocean.

He stood up abruptly and wiped off the seat of his breeches.

Lancelot smiled. "What are you doing out here, Aisha? You shouldn't be walking out here by yourself."

She laughed. She held her sandals in her hand, and her dress fluttered against her ankles, shaping the cloth around her legs. Her ebony hair blew around her, strands of silk caressed her face. "I think I can manage." Aisha tried to keep her heart from beating out of her chest, he was so strong and broad, his cloak billowing behind him, his curly hair ruffling over his brow as he gazed at her intently.

"What are you doing out here by your lonesome?" she inquired of him, a hint of worry in her eyes.

"Just needed some air," he replied. "Would you like to sit?"

When she nodded he spread his cloak out on the sand and they sat side by side in silence for a time.

"I heard about Levon wanting to return to the fort," she broached the topic tentatively.

Lancelot turned his head towards her slightly with a half smile on his face.

"Does that sadden you?"

After a moment, he replied, "No, not greatly. I am mostly happy for him that he found someone worth making such an extraordinary decision for."

"Yes, I imagine deciding to forego the chance to return to one's homeland is a difficult decision to make." She brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She settled her cheek on her knees, head towards him.

Lancelot felt this was an opportune time to lean in and kiss her. It was perfect with the waves lapping up on shore, several feet from them so they could not pull them out to sea. Instead he said, "What is Egypt like?"

Aisha smiled broadly. "Hot. Exotic in some ways, but very homely. At least where I come from. We live at least a day and a half ride from Alexandria. At night, the sea breeze wafts through my bedroom. When winter comes around, it rains and floods the Nile, covering the black land so we can have crops come spring. It is golden there, but also very green. There are pyramids higher than anything you've ever seen..."

As he listened to her speak, he became hypnotized with the melodic cadence of her voice. Any land would be exotic with her on it.

"And your home?" he heard her say.

"Ah," he grinned ruefully. "I'm afraid it does not really compare to yours. Instead of pyramids as high as the sky, there are mountains and hills which are a lush green. Many forests to get lost in. Green and green for miles..."

"It seems like a beautiful place," she said.

"Well..." he shrugged.

"I am glad I will be able to see your homeland."

His brow raised in surprise. "Why?"

"To see where you come from." She raised her head off her knees to stare more boldly at him.

He loved her. He knew it now, just gazing at those deep, onyx eyes.

Aisha put her hand on his forearm.

Do not do it, you fool, he berated himself. But he was already leaning in, wanting to capture her lips in a deeper kiss than the one they had shared only a couple of weeks ago. And when his mouth touched hers, he was lost. Aisha pressed further; his facial hair tickled her skin. She felt his tongue touch her mouth and she opened for him.

She gasped, her breath hitching when his tongue touched hers, moving deeper, massaging and dancing. Lancelot moaned inside, and took her down with him so she was on her back and he was leaning over her, their kiss unbroken. He would not be able to stop at all if he went a moment longer. He would have to separate himself from her, there was no future for them – was there? Ever? He could make love to her now, and know that she would not stop him.

And he wanted to, push his hard shaft into her tight, slick folds and hear her moan his name.

"I have...I have to stop." With great reluctance he pulled himself away from her.

"Why?" her breath was short. "Lancelot?" She rose to her feet to face him.

His back was turned, his hands on his hips, he could taste her on his lips as if she were still locked on him.

"I am sorry, Aisha," he said, "I should not have allowed that to happen."

"Allowed?" she countered.

"Yes..." he turned to face her. "I should never...I apologize."

"I am a grown woman, I make my own decisions."

"I know, but...I fear I...I would not have been able to stop if I..." Gods, the words would not come out right. He had no right to say these things. Ardeth's sister. His dear friend's sister. "You deserve more, Aisha. More than I have to give you. More than I ever could."

Aisha bristled at his words. How she loathed such righteous platitudes when it came to matters of the heart. "And just what does that mean?"

"Your life is much different than mine. I am a mere warrior, and that is all. I could never give you the life to which you are accustomed."

"Oh, you..." she sauntered forward and punched him in the shoulder. "Save me your quibbles of the statuses of men and women!"

Lancelot's eyes were wide and he rubbed his assaulted shoulder. He would never have expected.

"I never asked anything of you!" she continued. "And to assume that I would care for matters of hierarchical relations is an insult to me! To think that I would even care of your so-called position in life as less than mine!" She pointed a finger at his chest. "If you wanted to make an excuse, you should have chosen something better." She grabbed her shoes off of the sand and stalked off, leaving a startled and bereft Lancelot behind.

When he could no longer see her, he let out the breath he had not known he was holding. He plopped back on the sand with his head in his heads calling himself the worst sort of fool. A quarter of an hour later he didn't even hear Ahriman approach him.

"I always figured you were the least foolish of us all..." his smooth voice said.

Lancelot looked up at him.

"...except for me, of course," Ahriman finished.

He scoffed. "What are you talking about?"

A lazy shrug rippled his upper body. "I saw your lady friend looking very upset a while ago."

Lancelot's brow scrunched together as his friend stared blandly down at him on his seat of shame. "No need to rub it in."

Ahriman grunted and procured an apple from his pocket and deftly sliced a piece off and snatched it off the blade with his tongue. "You care for her. You push her away."

Lancelot groaned in self-frustration. He stood up. "Are you a matchmaker now? I think you've been spending too much time outside with the birds and the bees, my friend."

Ahriman smirked.

"Was there another reason you came out here other than to remind me that I have upset Aisha?"

"Sevan decided to remain here with Levon," Ahriman stated in a tone that said that had been his original message. "They want to speak with you." And they knew that Ahriman was the one to find Lancelot in a moment's notice. But seeing his friend's dejected expression, he said, "I can say I could not find you."

"And ruin your reputation?" Lancelot quipped, bending down to retrieve his cloak. He shook it out and swept it over his shoulders.

TBC....


	7. Meant to Live

**Part VII. Meant to Live**

_We were meant to live for so much more__  
Have we lost ourselves?__  
Somewhere we live inside__  
We want more than this world's got to offer__  
We want more than the wars of our fathers__  
And everything inside screams for second life  
-Switchfoot_

"So what is this my friends?" Lancelot sat down at their table in the tavern. The bar here was much bigger than the one at the fortress, but was filled with just as many soldiers who were stationed here along with women who were waitresses or with whores that were willing to sell their carnal services for coin.

"Sevan here," Levon slapped a large hand on his cousin's back, causing drops of ale to spill from his mug, "is to accompany me back to the fort and stay with me for a time." A big smile was on his face. He and his cousin had known one another since birth, and even when Levon had decided to stay in Britain, it had been a difficult decision to make – not being able to return to Sarmatia with his blood kin.

Sevan rolled his eyes. "He wouldn't last a minute without me," he quipped.

The men laughed.

"What say you, though, Lance?" Akbar inquired.

"It is not my decision to make," he replied. "But it is their choice, and I wish them only the best." He raised his mug in salute, and his comrades followed in suit. And he was sincere to the deepest recesses of his heart.

"I realized that my cousin had a point," Sevan said, slightly sobered in his countenance. "Our family is most likely dead and long gone, and what would we do? Marry and have sons only to see them taken away when they are of age?"

To this, the men quieted, probably the only group of people at a table that weren't shouting and laughing uproariously. Not a one of them, including Akbar, had a wench on their laps as they fondled their women's plump rumps.

"At least here," Sevan continued, "our children might have a chance of escaping a life of fealty."

They all, save Ahriman, hid their thoughtful eyes in their cups.

"More over here!" Behram shouted, breaking the quietude of his brothers.

"When do you depart?" Lancelot asked.

"The day after you all," Levon replied.

"We should inform Ardeth. I hope he is not offended by our sudden change in plan," Sevan said.

"Tomorrow morning would be best," Lancelot told them, and they capitulated. The mentioning of Ardeth made him think of Aisha, and how she had stalked off earlier, angry with him and his reticence. His groin still throbbed with wanting, and despite the ale he could still taste her on his lips.

The men drank to their hearts' content, and after a few hours each went off to their quarters at the inn, either alone or with a woman on their arms.

Lancelot walked through the large town, wondering if he should encounter Aisha. Her room was not near his, but he desperately wanted to see her and apologize. The ale gave him fortitude and he knew he could not let the night pass without explaining for his stupidity. He marched right in the building and to her quarters. He passed Ardeth's and Inara's room, dimly hearing them make passionate love.

He knocked on her door.

After a moment she answered, clad in her shift and bed robe. She stood there silently, but was instantly captured in Lancelot's strong arms, his leg stretched out behind him to close the door. He kept her locked in a fiery kiss, hoping to convey all he had not said and everything he was feeling in the depths of his soul in one gesture of love.

Their mouths parted, swollen with kisses. Aisha struggled to catch her breath.

"I am sorry, my sweet," he said, his hands cupping her face, his forehead against hers. "I was a fool."

"You were," she said through broken inhalations.

"I have," he confessed, looking deeply into her eyes, "never felt this way about any woman in my life. You beguile me. Yet, I only hold back because our futures are undecided and go in different directions. Me in Sarmatia and you in Egypt."

Aisha bit her bottom lip and separated herself from him. She knew, too, that a future together was dim at best. She would never ask him to choose between she and his homeland. Never.

"Then our time together, here and now, is what we have," she said quietly.

And how he wanted to make love to her. But he had bedded too many anonymous women in inns or barracks, and he wanted not to take her in such an impersonal setting. So, instead, they sat together for hours into the night, either in feverous kisses, quiet or conversation, telling one another about their childhoods' and lives up until this point.

----

The next day, he spent as much time as he could preparing for his departure and spending time with his comrades, two of whom he would most likely never see again in his lifetime. The day and night waned, Ardeth was informed and he was only glad and filled with good tidings for the two Sarmatians who would make a future for themselves on this island. The next morning was a bit foggy, but Ahriman said that the day would clear.

All men stood on the dock, ready to go on to the next journey.

They were serious, yet high-hearted.

"I suppose this is goodbye," Levon said, looking at each of his kin who had become brothers over the long, arduous years.

"Indeed, my friend," said Lancelot.

Fierce hugs were exchanged, and these brave and strong knights had a film of unshed tears in their eyes, all save Ahriman. Gul, ever the spirit-lifter tried his best to make the most of this final goodbye.

"By all the gods, who would have thought..." Sevan's cracked voice trailed off. He cleared his throat. "The hell with you, get on the blasted ship!" He waved them and took a step back.

With their luggage already stowed below deck, the men ascended the ramp where all the Egyptians were already on board. After a quarter of an hour, the ramp was lifted and they could hear the cranking of oars that would row them home.

The Sarmatians stood on the deck as the ship sailed away. The forms of Sevan and Levon became smaller and less clear on the dock of the harbor. Another ship was gaining closer to them. It was slightly smaller but held more supplies that the ship they were on did not carry.

"What will become of them?" Vreg asked.

"What will become of us?" Melek tacked on.

The men did not answer, and soon they could no longer make out a piece of their two friends on land.

They were now surrounded by nothing but the sky and leagues and leagues of water. Even with the best of weather it would take them no less than four weeks to dock at the harbor on the coast of Sarmatia. For now all they could do was bide their time and hope for the best.

"Well, what do you know?" Gul said. "We are no longer on the island of Britain."

TBC...


	8. Hope Has a Place

**Part VIII. Hope Has a Place**

_Under the heavens we journey far,__  
On roads of life we're the wanderers,__  
So let love rise, so let love depart,__  
Let hope have a place in the lover's heart.__  
Hope has a place in a lover's heart.  
-Enya_

Two weeks on a rocking ship was enough to send some of men into retched sea-sickness. Inara had prepared for this very thing. Her herbal concoctions dissipated the ailing significantly. She tended to Gul and Akbar with all the tenderness of a mother. When they were able they stood on the decks and breathed in the ocean air. It was sunny days that guided them, and at night the moon glinted off the dark ocean.

They stopped at different ports to replenish both supplies for the ships, and stayed at inns for no more than two days each time. At night, Lancelot often went to the front of the ship. He would nod to the Egyptians who were manning the ship as he passed. Aisha would often join him, and it was nice to have her comforting presence next to him. They talked, sometimes they did not. But he came to know her and she him, and both knew their souls were intertwining and there was no stopping it.

The wind ruffled Lancelot's hair, and the ocean spray crashed against the ship. He heard Aisha approach. He smiled as she stood next to him. Save for the wind and the waves, it was quiet.

From the corner of her eyes, she watched him stare ahead in reverie. By now, she was familiar with his expressions. The mere crease of his brow and the slight downward curve of the left side of his mouth meant that he was thinking about something that troubled him. When both sides of his mouth were curved upwards, it mean he was thinking of something humorous. She never asked him what he was remembering, he would tell her in time, or not. That was what Lancelot liked about her. He could speak to her without even saying a word. And the silences were comfortable.

He had gotten out of his cabin because the rocking of the boat and the sounds of the oars below reminded him of the first few nights he had spent on his way to Britain. He tried not to think of those days and nights which were filled with the stench of sadness from his comrades. Some boys of tribes kept away from other tribes. Elder boys often got tired of the sniffling from the younger, snapping at them or threatening violence. But it never lasted. Despite the difference of age or tribes, they were Sarmatians, and during this trying time, it was important to remember that, especially sense Rome now, was their unspoken enemy.

Lancelot had never spoken to anyone of the fear and loneliness he had felt on the ship. Some of the Sarmatians died from fever or sickness, and they were thrown overboard. Some of the Romans were nice and more tolerant than others, but they were still looked upon with general disdain. If they did not obey to their every command immediately, they were beaten. Once a day they were let up on the deck for air. Getting out of the musty cabins that were filled with the smell of sweat and filth. One of their jobs was to clean the decks and wash down their cabins.

"A lot of my kin died on that trip," he finally said to her. "The younger boys, mostly. I often thought it was the fear and heartache that made them sick."

Aisha's warm hand covered his.

"The Romans...I never knew anyone could be so cruel until I met them. We were beaten if we so much as blinked wrongly at them." He hung his head and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Sometimes...at night...a soldier or two would come to us...the first time it happened I vomited all over myself."

Aisha knew instinctively what he was referring to. She was familiar with the Romans' views. They could preach their Christian platitudes, but if they wanted something that suited their needs, they would take it without remorse. So she was told by others. She was not gullible, but deep inside, she knew it was true.

"Not to me," he hastened to say, and he saw the relieved look on her face. "But...other boys. At first...they fought back...then it was accepted. Some Romans liked the ones who did put up resistance, some took the younger boys who would cry..." Then, hearing his words, he stopped. "Gods, why I am telling you this?" He looked at her apologetically.

"It's all right, Lancelot. You can tell me anything."

"I know, but I should not have...it's an awful thing to...say...I suppose."

She took his arm and moved to embrace him. He returned the comfort immediately, her smaller body molded to his. The clean scent of her hair and body. Her breasts against his chest, her head leaning against his heart. They gazed at each other and she stroked his cheek, touched his curly hair. She tried not to think about when they would arrive at their destination. No more long talks at night, sweet embraces, or stolen kisses. He had not kissed her as deeply as he had during those last days in Britain, but the soft touching of his lips against hers was no less passionate than the others. They spoke volumes. They were deep in the sense that they invaded her core and lasted all the night through to the next morning and forever.

----

"What do you think they will do, Ardeth?" Inara had her head tucked under her husband's chin. They both were abed, their bare skins touching, a slight cover of perspiration on their bodies.

He kissed her crown and then stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling of their cabin. The ship rocked as lightly as a cradle, the only light was from the sky shining through the square window. "I do not know."

She sighed. "What if Aisha decides to stay with Lancelot in Sarmatia?"

For a moment, Ardeth's heart was ill at ease, then it resumed with its calm beat. It was his turn to sigh. "That is a thought I cannot contemplate right now. With someone she loves or no, being in a foreign country away from everything she knows would be very jarring."

"I agree."

Ardeth felt her shiver and pulled the blankets over them, hugged her closer to his side. She ran her hand down his chest to where his thick, dark hair began around his sex. She could not help but remember those times when they were nearly separated by death. After her miscarriages, or when he came home three years ago, returning from a bloody battle after three long months. Even his brother, Memnon, had thought he would die. Ardeth had insisted he be taken back to her, enduring the long journey. On his bed, he had whispered to her that it was thoughts of her that made him go on. Slowly, he had healed, back to his entire self.

"Besides," he continued, "Memnon would be on the first ship to Sarmatia to return her to Egypt."

Inara laughed lightly, feeling his own rumble of mirth that turned into a hiss as she enveloped his sex in her hand. She brought him to life in more ways than one. In one graceful movement she was straddling him, the moon rays lit her body giving her a celestial glow. Ardeth gazed at her adoringly, reaching up to cup her full breasts. She let out a breath of air and tilted her head back as he kneaded her breasts.

Inara lifted herself, letting her wet sheath slide over his phallus. Ardeth groaned and took her hips, together they rocked in beat with the ship.

TBC....


	9. Dear Friends

**Part IX. Dear Friends**

_Go to sleep and dream again  
Soon your hopes will rise  
And then from all this gloom  
Life can start anew  
And there'll be no crying soon_

_-Queen_

_Sarmatia_

Almost with fear, the Sarmatians walked down the plank and onto the dock, walking and walking until their feet landed on the earth of Sarmatia. They looked around as if they had been in a dungeon for years, having not seen the sun in ages. The port town before them was bustling with activity. It was the same place they had set sail for Britain so many years ago. Of course, it was different now – or maybe they thought it was different because they didn't remember what it had looked like before. But, surely something must have changed in the past fifteen plus years?

They each had packs slung over their shoulders. After almost three months on a ship, they were getting their land legs again. They were a bit wobbly, and felt as if they were still swaying with the motions of the ocean.

"Well," Akbar said, "I guess we should..."

He trailed off to silence and the rest of the men nodded, understanding that the next step – now that they were here – would be difficult to choose.

"Still swarming with Romans," Gul muttered.

Lancelot, sensing their unease as acutely as his own, took charge. "Come on, men. We'll secure lodgings for the night. Clean ourselves up. We smell awful." He glanced behind him for a view of Aisha. Her brown eyes latched onto his, and she gave him an encouraging smile. The look in her eyes promised they would see one another soon.

There was a relieved chuckle from them all. Slowly, with eyes wandering everywhere, they walked to the heart of the town, passing by Roman soldiers, children, adults. They were given passing glances, some people stared – wondering who these people were who had just docked in their town.

Aisha opted to remain with her brother and sister-in-law to give Lancelot time to readjust himself to his homeland with his brethren.

"Come, Aisha." Ardeth approached in arm with Inara, and put his free arm around his sister. "We should bathe and rest. Later, I must speak with the Legate Commander here. He is expecting me."

Ardeth made sure the ship would be properly taken care of, the horses adequately stabled and all belongings delivered to the correct area.

Speaking to a guard first who recognized the Egyptian's name, welcomed him and his people. The soldier summoned a carriage to take them to the Legate Commander's headquarters where they would be housed for the duration of their visit. Shortly, the carriage arrived and they got in. Through the windows they got a clear view of the town as they rode down the cobbled streets. It was large and active. Not unlike the port town in Britain. But, then again, it really wouldn't be, as it was all designed by Romans. Less than a quarter of an hour later, they stopped in the courtyard of the Legate Commander's building.

Legate Commander Evander Liberius, had a wide smile on his face as he greeted his old acquaintance, Ardeth.

"Welcome, friend," he said.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Ardeth said.

"Of course. You have been most generous to me and Rome in the past."

Ardeth introduced his wife and sister and did not fail to notice the admiring gleam in the Roman's eyes when he looked at both Egyptian women. The three Egyptians were taken to their quarters. The building had its own bath house, which were promptly occupied by them. Afterwards, when they were refreshed, they took a small meal. They would not be staying for more than a week, so they did not get too comfortable.

A few hours later, Ardeth went to meet with Evander Liberius and left the two women to their own devices.

Aisha and Inara set out to explore the market.

"Nafrini made me promise to bring her souvenirs," Inara said.

"She said the same to me," Aisha replied and the two of them laughed.

Nafrini was an herbalist that resided in the colony with them. She was a bit of an eccentric woman, outspoken, and had many ideas, beliefs that were quite off the wall. But in the colony, such things were accepted, diversity was not a problem. Nafrini often clashed with the physician, Kneph. No matter what they said, however, it was obvious that there was something more between them.

"We should get something for Kneph, too," Inara said.

"His and hers trinkets of a sort?" Aisha replied with a sly smile.

"Oh, that would be a laugh!" Inara agreed.

----

The Sarmatians had no problem finding the tavern. It was no different from the one in Britain. Wenches served more than ale, and men were getting lost in their cups. They had yet to see anyone they recognized from their pasts. But, they hadn't walked around very much.

They got a table and ordered a round of drinks.

"To our return!" Melek said, holding up his mug.

The others echoed his sentiment and ale sloshed from the brims as they clacked their mugs together.

The toast must have been the start of a stream of luck, because not long after, a woman approached hesitantly, her eyes on Akbar. She had long brown hair, dark brown eyes, milky white skin. She was wearing a plain, blue dress.

"Akbar?" she said, her voice was just barely heard over the din of commotion in the tavern.

All the men quieted.

Akbar stared at the woman with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow. "Yes?"

The woman laughed shakily. "You...don't recognize me. But, no, I wouldn't expect you to; I was only five when you left..."

Akbar observed her more carefully. She was pretty enough. Then he paled. He felt as if the bones had left his body. "Milana?"

A veil of tears filled her eyes and a smile spread on her face. She nodded. "I...never thought I'd see you again, but I never forgot your face."

Akbar stood, his legs shaky. "You're all grown up. I...damn, I...don't know what to say." He swallowed the painful lump in his throat. But he was saved from having to speak because she threw herself into his arms and embraced him tightly. Her tears ran free.

"My brother," she sobbed.

The men at the table suspected as much, but were stunned nonetheless.

Akbar enfolded his younger sister in his arms, rested his chin on the top of her head. Not wanting to, he pulled back and held her at arms length, taking in her features more carefully. They had the same wide lips, and the almond shaped eyes. The color of their hair was the same.

"Congratulations," Behram said, and raised his mug.

"These are my friends," he said. "Lancelot, Ahriman, Behram, Gul, Melek and Vreg."

Milana greeted all of them, wiping away the fallen tears from her cheeks.

"Do you work here? Are you busy?" Akbar said, wanting to know everything.

"My shift just ended," Milana said, wiping the tears from her face.

"We'll catch up with you later," Lancelot said, knowing that Akbar wanted to spend time with his sister.

Akbar nodded at all of them and left with Milana.

"Well, hell," Gul said. "One down."

----

And it was like that the next day. Behram mostly likely figured he would not have any surviving family. His parents had been old when he'd left, and he did not have any siblings at the time. So if he did, he wouldn't know who they were. It was the same for Gul.

Melek ran into his mother. And there was a hearty reunion. Vreg met with his mother and father, and none too soon for his father was on his sick bed. It was odd, and too good to be true, that their families resided in the first place they had come to. But many people had probably come to the larger towns for work or trading.

Lancelot saw none of his family, and while his comrades spent time with theirs, he spent time with Aisha. Walking around and talking. She would be leaving within a week and they still had yet to come to any decision about their futures. If Lancelot did not find his family here, he would ride off, searching.

----

Ahriman rode his horse outside of the town, getting familiar with the plains of his homeland. Such greenery, the forests...the hills. There was farming outside of the port, people had their huts and small fields where they harvested their crops. Further out he rode, having no particular destination in mind. As he went, he was met with more open settlements. They stared at him in curiosity, perhaps fright. The man with the sharp, tattooed cheekbones, menacing sword on his back. Scraggly beard, braids in his hair – trademarks of one who belonged with the Iazyges.

Having seen enough of the population, he headed into the dense forest, finding solace in it as he had often done in the forests of Britain. He located a stream with no problem and dismounted. He let his horse graze. He bent down in front of the cool, clear water and splashed his face. Ahriman plunked himself against a tree and opened his satchel that contained fresh bread, cheese and two apples. He also had a flagon of ale. All courtesy of Inara. He could not help but let a small half-grin twitch on his face, thinking about the Egyptian woman who treated them all like family. She even seemed to know everything, as if she had eyes and ears following them. When she found out – how, he hadn't a clue – that he was going out for a spell, she stopped him and said that she would not let him go until she prepared some food and drink for him.

After accepting, she looked up at him on his horse. "You be careful now," she told him. "If you are not back by morning, I will send someone out for you." And he knew she meant it.

Ahriman took a few swigs from his flagon, then began to eat one of his apples, slicing pieces off of it with his dagger. All he heard was the rustle of leaves in the soft breeze, a few twittering birds. His horse was not too far off and he kept a gentle eye on him. He must have dozed off for just a bit, because he was stirred by a woman's voice.

"Where are you, young man?" the woman called.

She wasn't too far away, he sensed the wind was carrying her voice, as well. It was coming from across the stream. He looked and saw a rustling in the bushes on the other side.

"Tristan, you come over here this instant!" the woman ordered.

There was more rustling. Then a small boy, no older than three or four, emerged from the bushes. The boy saw Ahriman immediately and stopped dead. He had a curved, wooden sword in his hand. His hair was mussed with twigs and leaves, and he had one braid a bit longer than the rest of his hair on the right side of his head. His breeches and tunic were dirty. Ahriman stared right back at him.

"There you are!" the woman said, a few paces away from her son. When she saw that the boy had not responded to her voice, she looked where he was looking and gasped, standing in front of her son.

Ahriman knew her immediately. Surely, his sister had been very young when he left, but he never forgot a face, even if it was slightly changed by time. He stood in one fluid movement and the woman took a step back with her son. They were separated by ten feet of water.

"Laleh," he said, barely loud enough, but she reacted to it nonetheless.

Recognition donned on her face. "Ahriman?"

He could only nod.

She cried out in surprise and happiness, stepping aside so her son could see his uncle.

"Who is that, Mama?" he asked.

She felt absurd conducting this introduction from across the stream. But before she could do a thing about it, Ahriman was up to his knees in water, crossing the breadth between them.

When his feet landed on the earth, Laleh threw her arms around his neck, happy tears streaked down her face. Ahriman hugged her back, the tenderness he had always felt for his sister coming back to him so easily. Tenderness he had never shared with anyone else in so very long. She stepped back from him and gazed at his face. Hesitantly, her fingers touched his face, then gently held one of his braids.

"It's you," she said.

He smiled.

"Mama?" the boy said again.

"Oh!" she said. She wiped her face. "Tristan, remember the uncle I told you about? This is him. Uncle Ahriman."

Tristan stared up at the menacing man in silence, observing him like a hawk with his golden-brown eyes.

Ahriman bent down on one knee. He had never been good with children, in fact, he didn't even like them very much, they smelled and were fussy, but this was his nephew. His blood. He could see features he recognized. The eyes, the cheeks, the mouth. Coloring of skin and hair.

Tristan spoke: "Did you really kill ten men all by yourself?"

He paused, then tossed his head back and laughed. "Your mama has been telling you tales, hmm?"

"And you got your markings when you were ten, too," Tristan continued. "The youngest to ever do so!"

Ahriman could not help but continue to smile fondly at this young boy. He looked up at his sister and stood. It was almost unreal.

"Let us go back to our home. We can talk some more," Laleh said.

Tristan took his uncle's hand. "Will you tell me about the time you killed those ten men?" He let go of his hand and did slashing movements with his wooden sword.

"You're very good," Ahriman said, and meant it. For such a young boy his movements were graceful.

"Really?!" Tristan exclaimed. "Come on Uncle Ahriman! Let's go, Mama!" He tugged on his uncle's hand.

Ahriman was home.

----

Ahriman rode back to town that evening, informing Lancelot and the rest that he would depart for good the following day. He had found his sister and nephew, and looked happier than any of the men had ever seen him. The stoic scout even gave them a warm embrace before he left.

Lancelot sighed heavily as he stared up at his room's ceiling. All the other men had found their families. What of him? Aisha was to leave in two days time, and the idea of watching the ship sail away with her on it – without him – bit like poisonous barbs into his heart. The prospect of finding his brother was low. He had asked around town, and there was nothing. Lancelot grasped tightly to his wooden carved dragon amulet with the ruby eyes. His brother had the other likeness of it.

He had ridden out to the villages surrounding the town, and there was no one he recognized either. How much further would he have to ride? How many more miles would he and his horse have to tread on this earth before a piece of heaven was found? He had survived over a decade without his brother. And he had never had this yawning feeling of emptiness when he thought about his sibling. Only with Aisha did this painful chasm expand. Thoughts without her. It still remained unspoken between them. And time was running out.

TBC....


	10. Dare You to Move

**Part X. Dare You to Move**

_I dare you to move__  
I dare you to lift__  
yourself up off the floor  
__I dare you to move__  
Like today never happened__  
Today never happened before  
-Switchfoot_

The next morning, as Lancelot was splashing his face with water from the bowl near the window, he was struck dumb from what he was seeing. He almost couldn't believe it. There, a horde of young children, were being marched to the port. Some were walking; some were on horses, some two to a horse. Behind and in front of them were Roman soldiers. He hurriedly got himself together and rushed out of the inn. The other men were already out there, observing the trail.

"Shit," muttered Gul. "Look at 'em."

"That was us over a decade ago," added Behram.

The boys turned their heads to the crowd of people watching them; some of the townspeople had already lost interest and were going about their morning chores. The new band of Sarmatians, heading to their fifteen years of servitude, looked like they were being marched to the gallows. And, in a way, they were.

Lancelot's throat constricted in a painful knot.

"I can't watch," Gul said.

Behram followed him to the tavern for breakfast.

Lancelot's feet had him trailing after the young men of Sarmatians. At the port, they dismounted and the horses were led onto the large ship. The boys and young men stood about, guarded by Romans. They had few belongings, and some forwent their dignity and let tears fall. Some of the older boys comforted the younger.

"No talking!" snapped a Roman.

Lancelot felt someone join him. He turned to see Ardeth watching the event solemnly. He stood erect, hands behind his back, eyes slitted from the light of the sun that shone upon them. But to Lancelot, it was a dark day. Watching this, anger simmered in the pit of his stomach. He clenched his teeth when a Roman slapped a boy upside the head. His hand went to the dagger belted to his waist.

When all the horses were aboard, the boys were led up the plank onto ship. To the bleakness below the deck where there would be perhaps two or three to a cot. Some days it would be steaming hot, and at night blistering cold. Soft cries would be muffled in pillows. Or sometimes there would be a deafening silence. The very unlucky ones would be awoken in the night by a soldier...taken...violated.

Then, one of them screamed. A young man tried to calm the child, but it was no use.

"No! No! I won't go!" yelled the boy. He struggled from his friend, who was trying to hold him back, but his small body broke from his grasp and he began to retreat down the plank, pushing aside the other boys.

"Stop that boy!" commanded a guard.

The young Sarmatian boy did not get far. He was seized by a hulk of a soldier and was immediately met with a blowing punch to his face. The friend broke through the ranks and tried to help the boy. But, he too, was apprehended. No one else helped. From the corner of his obsidian eyes, Ardeth watched Lancelot's growing angst, and he did not stop him when the Sarmatian charged forward towards the fight.

Lancelot saw red. The Roman did not see him before it was too late. The Sarmatian grabbed him from behind, spun him around and rammed his fist straight into his nose. The man cried out, and two Roman soldiers jumped in. Lancelot fought them off, spurred by his rage.

"Ardeth?" Inara had come to him.

"You should go back," Ardeth said.

"But..." Inara was watching with growing unease. "What is happening?"

"Ardeth?" Aisha ran up to him. "He needs help!" she exclaimed.

Ardeth held her back when he gathered she was going to join the fray. "Stay back." And with predatorily ease, the Egyptian went to Lancelot's aid. He had not instantly because he knew that this was truly Lancelot's fight. He was not blind; he had observed the Sarmatian grappling with many emotions the past few days.

The Egyptian put his large hand on the back of a Roman's neck and squeezed tightly with little to no effort. The man cried out in agony and was brought to his knees. Ardeth's presence brought the fighting to a slow halt. Lancelot had a bloody nose and his eye was swelling, but he fared better than the three soldiers who had been attacking him.

Inara squeezed through and went to the young boy who had been punched. "Let me see, dear," she said. And the boy, who couldn't be older than twelve, was comforted by her motherly ministrations. It broke her heart to see such abuse, but when this ship began to sail, there would be no one to help these grieving boys.

"He attacked a Roman soldier," a man was saying.

"He is a Roman citizen," Ardeth replied calmly, his dark eyes ice cold. "Such abuse on one so young is uncalled for."

The Roman was quite at a loss for words, even as he tried to stop the blood from flowing out of his nose.

Lancelot stood beside Ardeth, still seething. A soft touch made him flinch, Aisha had touched his hand. And he could hardly bear the tender look in her eyes.

"We need to sail now," another Roman said. "Get those boys on the ship."

The little boy had more tears falling and was holding to Inara's skirts. She was crooning to him. "It will be all right. Stay next to your brother, here."

"I don't want to go," he said.

She kissed him on the forehead and wiped away his tears. She shot the Roman soldier a deadly look, daring him to say something – anything. "You should be ashamed of yourself," she told him.

The Roman's eyes widened, but he said nothing. Inara got the young boy to let go of her skirts and with a hung head he walked up the plank with his brother. He turned back and gave the Egyptian woman a wave. She blew him a kiss like a mother would have done.

Ardeth beckoned her and she went to his arms. A veil of tears was building in her eyes. "It is wrong, Ardeth," she said.

"I know," he replied.

"Lancelot!" Aisha called.

The other two looked to see Lancelot stalking off. He went to the stables and saddled his horse, riding out of the town to anywhere. He would have killed those soldiers were it not for Ardeth's intervention. He had been momentarily ashamed of his behavior, to have Aisha see him act a barbarian. But there had been no rebuke in her eyes, only compassion. Had there been admonition it would have made it easier for him to remain behind.

He rode and rode, pushing his horse faster into the land. When both he and horse were tired, they stopped by a stream. Lancelot collapsed on his knees to the ground. He pounded the earth with his fists, he screamed aloud, rushing to his feet and began pounding against a tree, splitting his skin until his hands bled. Hot tears built behind his eyelids, but he did not let them fall.

Would it be like this – if he stayed? No matter what village he were to occupy, year after year more Romans would come and take the children. He would see them crying, their spirits already hardening before their horses took their first steps. Mothers weeping as fathers held them, trying to comfort as their own hearts broke. If he had children, boys, it would be the same. Oh, he could try to hide them, but that was no way to live. Could he let his sons go off to such a fealty life as he had done? Too much for one man's soul.

He slipped his carved dragon off of his neck, grasping it tightly in his aching hand.

"Lancelot?"

His head snapped around to see Aisha dismounting from her horse.

"What are you doing here? How did you find me?" he asked.

She was silent for a moment. "I hurried and followed you."

He nodded, must have been too caught up in running away to sense someone behind him.

"I was worried about you," she said. Aisha tentatively approached and crouched near him. "Oh, my love," she whispered, seeing his bloodied hands. She was not even aware of those two words she had uttered with such deep affection. Her soft lips kissed both of his hands.

"My love," he said, his voice husky with emotion.

"Yes, my love," she repeated.

"I love you, my sweet. I cannot be separated from you." He raised his head and looked deep into her eyes. "I cannot have a life here and see these things year after year. I will go mad. There is nothing for me here."

Aisha caressed his cheek. He was not aware tears had slipped from his eyes. Emotions thawed by his burning heart.

"You can come with me," she said softly.

"I would go anywhere with you. If you would have me."

Aisha brought her lips to his and he cupped her head in his hands and kissed her back fiercely, not wanting to let go. He inhaled her sweetness and her love. His tongue broke past her lips and they danced that lover's dance that only lovers can do.

TBC....


	11. A Whole New World

**Part XI. A Whole New World**

_A whole new world  
That's where we'll be  
A thrilling chase  
A wondrous place  
For you and me_

_-Aladdin_

_Egypt_

It was hot in this part of the world. But it was forgotten when Lancelot saw the shore of Egypt for the first time. Aisha stood beside him on the deck with Inara and Ardeth. The skies were pure blue and the wind hit his face like Aisha's sweet caresses. After saying goodbye to his brethren in Sarmatia, he did not once look back. Because there was only one place to look – forward, next to his sweet.

Aisha peeked at Lancelot out of the corner of her eye. The whole trip she hoped that he would not regret his decision to come with her. She knew Ardeth had assured him that if he were to change his mind, he could arrange passage for him back to Sarmatia. She did not want him to begin to resent her for taking him away from his homeland – from the chance to reconnect with his kin he had been away from for so long. Egypt was a far cry from both Britain and Sarmatia. It surely did not snow here, and it did not rain as much, except during inundation. Instead of mountains there were pyramids, instead of miles and miles of greenery, there were miles and miles of golden desert.

Closer and closer the ship approached their small harbor. She had told him the history of her home. Her great-grandfather, Menetnashte, had built the mansion for his wife, Nafretiri. She was sick, so he retired from the military to spend the rest of his years in peace with her, along with his three sons and one daughter. His absence was sorely missed, for he was one of the greatest warriors, hailing from Upper Egypt where all great warriors came from. He had trained many and led many to victorious battles. Her great-grandfather had acquired this part of land and began to build a home for him and his wife who loved the ocean. It was away from the hustle and bustle of Alexandria.

After a year or so, the mansion near completed he was approached by a commander he had known for many years. He wanted Menetnashte to take on a group of soldiers for training. Nafretiri thought it a good way for her husband to spend his time, for he had been a warrior for much of his life, before he met her, and he would be after she passed from this world. With a bit of prodding on her part, he finally agreed. So a small area for a training ground was built by his mansion. Housing for the soldiers was erected as well. Stables were built, an armory. Then they needed people to run these buildings. Over time, people came to live near the area with Menetnashte's permission. They built their houses, becoming a part of this growing community. Walls were built around the place and outside of it, there was farming, and the families who chose to build their houses outside of the walls, too.

There were blacksmiths, cooks, grooms, gardeners, butchers. An infirmary was built, employing only the best physicians, surgeons and healers. Within two years, an entire colony had been made. And it had thrived ever since. Soldiers were brought here in groups for the beginning of their training, and then sent off to become a part of a legion. Menetnashte's sons were trained as well. Fifteen years later, after Menetnashte's death, his sons took over, as they were extremely learned warriors as well. And their sons after that, and now it was Ardeth and his older brother, Memnon, who taught the men. There were other trainers who assisted as well.

The colony had a group of ten individuals who gathered for regular meetings to discuss matters of the town. Ardeth and Memnon were a part of it, along with the physician, Kneph, two other generals, a treasurer, an architect, two agriculturists, and a scribe.

From the port, other than the workers, there were a few people waiting for them.

"There is my brother, Memnon," Aisha said, pointing to a stoic looking man without a hint of a smile on his face. "And that is Nafrini." The woman she pointed to seemed to be poking fun at Memnon.

After a time, the ship finally docked and the plank was put down so they could make way to land. When they approached Memnon and Nafrini, both looked at the stranger.

"_Akh_," Ardeth said, embracing his brother, a genuine smile on his face. Inara was being held by Nafrini, then Aisha, who was staying close to Lancelot.

Inara gave her brother-in-law a kiss on the cheek, and by his greeting it looked like he felt sincere affection for his sister-in-law, as well.

"Memnon!" Aisha hugged her eldest brother tightly, and he her.

"Allow me to introduce our friend, Lancelot," Ardeth said.

Memnon did not fail to notice the closeness of the stranger and his sister who was gently holding the man's hand.

"I think we have met once," Memnon replied without inflection. "Years ago. _Kaif Halak_?"

"I'm good. It's nice to meet you, again," Lancelot replied.

A small upwards quirk of Memnon's mouth revealed that he was amused Lancelot had known what he'd said. "I am fine, as well." He shot his brother an inquiring look – one that said he would explain this thoroughly at the most convenient moment.

"Handsome!" Nafrini exclaimed, looking him up and down, making them laugh.

Lancelot seemed taken aback when the woman cupped his face and turned it from right to left. "Strong jaw," she said. "Good eyes..."

"Nafrini," Aisha hissed. "You can examine him later." She took Lancelot's arm.

"Did you get married while you were gone?" Nafrini asked boldly.

"No!" Aisha said; emitting a shaky laugh, hoping Lancelot was not offended at Nafrini's nosiness, but he only smiled.

"Come, enough questions for now," Ardeth spoke. "We need food and clean clothes."

By then, the people at the port were observing them. They waved hello to those who had returned, all familiar with Ardeth and company. "Welcome back," many of them said.

"When you're up to it, I will introduce you to everyone," Aisha said. "Don't mind their stares; they are interested in every new face."

"Wipe that look off of your face, Memnon," Inara whispered, poking her brother-in-law in the ribs.

The horses were led off of the ship and Lancelot went to Mithra, his steed. He patted the black horses on his neck. In the span of five months, he and his horse were beginning many changes in their lives. Aisha took Thema by the reins.

"Would you like to take Mithra to the stables?" she asked him.

"I think that's best, if that's all right," he replied.

"Of course."

So the first place they went was the stables, trotting through the roads. People waved at them cheerily, more "welcome backs" were shouted.

"Those are the training grounds," Ardeth pointed.

In the distance Lancelot could hear the shouts of soldiers going about their routines.

"Do you know everyone?" Lancelot asked Ardeth.

"Indeed," he said.

"We try," Memnon said.

When they approached the stables, Lancelot could not help but compare it to the one in Britain. In fact, he compared most of everything to Britain. Things here were in better shape. The stables for the horses here was much bigger.

"Yafeu!" Ardeth said, shaking the Head Groom's hand.

"Ardeth!" A very tall, skinny man greeted the Egyptian. He had a big nose, brown skin, a large jaw and was bald. He resembled a horse, so his occupation was fitting.

"Ah, do we have fresh meat here?" Yafeu asked jokingly, eyeing Mithra.

Mithra grunted a bit and put inquiring eyes on Lancelot. He patted the horse's nose.

"Yafeu," Aisha said, "this is Lancelot."

The man said a brief, but polite hello to Lancelot, but it was obvious he was much more interested in the new horse.

"He's not very good with strangers," Lancelot said, not knowing if Yafeu could understand the language he spoke, but apparently he could because he gave a large, benevolent smile, and waved his hand dismissively.

"May I?" Yafeu asked.

Lancelot nodded, but still held onto Mithra's reins. Yafeu approached the large steed cautiously and put his hand out for sniffing. Mithra scuffed a hoof against the ground, but leaned in a bit to catch the man's scent. Mithra took to him, Lancelot was surprised.

"He's something of a horse whisperer," Ardeth told him. "He will take good care of Mithra."

"Personally," Yafeu added. "I know new places can be very disarming to creatures." He ran off a list of questions to Lancelot, asking what specific things Mithra did or did not like; strange behaviors or reactions to certain things. "Very good, then," he said, when he was finished. "He is in good hands." He said something in Arabic in the direction of the stable doors. "Bubu!" A young boy came running out. Yafeu barked off orders in rapid succession and the boy took two horses by the reins and led them in, and in minutes other stable boys were attending the animals. As promised, Yafeu himself took care of Mithra.

"He likes horses more than humans," Inara said with a smile.

The manse was about half a mile away. It was nearest to the reaches of the ocean and overlooked the entire town. At the forecourt of the manse, a fountain was in the middle of two trails that encircled around it. There were vast gardens on the grounds, and workers were already tending them who stopped for a brief moment to say hello to those who'd returned. A few dogs were running around.

Another young boy came running out of the double doors of the manse and down the five stone steps.

"Lords and Ladies," he said, his voice high pitched. He bowed. He wore an immaculate white cloth that acted as one garment, and a golden rope tied at the waist. He was bald, as well. "_Ahlan wa sahlan_."

"_Ahlan biik_, Rasui," Inara said.

"We have a new friend with us," Ardeth said to him. "This is Lancelot."

"My Lord," Rasui said instantly, bowing at the waist to Lancelot.

"I..." Lancelot was completely befuddled at being called "Lord." Most of his life and the highest title he had ever been addressed as was "sir." Before any correction could be made, however, Rasui rattled on.

"We are most pleased at your return," he prattled sincerely. "Fresh clothes have been laid out, baths are prepared and food. I will prepare Lord Lancelot's rooms myself." He smiled at the Sarmatian.

When Rasui was out of earshot, Aisha said, "He is a very exuberant man."

"Man?" Lancelot asked.

"Oh!" Aisha laughed that musical sound he loved. "He's a eunuch."

Lancelot winced, and the company around him chuckled.

The inside of the mansion was awing. The walls were of ivory marble, and the floors were black and white mosaics. The ceiling had a circular window so the sun shone right in, making the ivory glitter. The railing to the staircase was carved with lotus flowers. Several paces one could go, walking in a straight line from the double doors was an atrium with a shallow rectangular pool of water with another small fountain in the middle, and the atrium led to the back courtyard/garden decorated with paths, hedges and fountains.

The dining area, living area, studies, bathhouses and rooms were all decorated with the finest of things – but, yet, it all managed to remain welcoming and unostentatious. All corridors connected, there were 12 rooms, three of which were master bedrooms – usually reserved for the married couples.

They were greeted at the door and led to their rooms. Ardeth told Lancelot that they would speak later as he and Inara went to their quarters. Memnon said something to his brother in terse Arabic, and Ardeth only gave his elder brother an indulgent smile. Aisha walked with Lancelot – ignoring Memnon's harsh stare – to his quarters.

"Here we are," she said.

It was the biggest room he would ever have slept in. The bed could fit a good three people, the headboard and columns shined to a finish. The coverings were of the best cottons and silks. The dressers were of lacquered mahogany wood. There was a sofa and two armchairs. The walls were frescoed with scenes from Egyptian mythology. There were two lamps on nightstands on either side of the bed, a few suspended from chains on the ceiling. The windows opened outwards, covered by velvet curtains.

His belongings were already laid out.

"The terrace," Aisha said, and led him out on the surface which overlooked the ocean. "Do you like the view?" she asked, the ocean's breeze ruffling her hair.

Lancelot gazed at her deeply. "The view is beautiful." He took a deep breath and looked out. In the distance the waves lapped or crashed against cliffs, he could smell the salt in the air. It was only mid-afternoon. He felt Aisha's hand upon his, her other moving to his cheek.

"I do not want you to regret coming here with me."

He kissed her palm. "And I do not."

"If you ever want to go back, you know I will go with you."

Lancelot knew; which was why he did not want to go back. He smiled. They were just about to kiss when someone knocked on the door.

When Aisha answered it was a Rasui. "Your bath has been prepared, Lord Lancelot," he said.

"Just Lancelot, if you will," Lancelot replied, wanting to nip that title in the bud.

Rasui looked scandalized at the very idea of calling on one so casually.

"How about 'Sir'?" Aisha offered, knowing how Rasui could be.

"Very well," Rasui said, only slightly mollified. "To the baths then?"

Aisha told Lancelot that she would go refresh herself and meet back up with him, and they could share a meal together. As Rasui led Lancelot to the bath, the eunuch chattered on and on happily. The bath was square and big enough for two people. There were niches in the walls that held bottles of perfumes and lotions, and drawers with fresh towels and washcloths. A window let in the light, this one looking out towards the rear courtyard.

"Please, relax, Sir Lancelot," Rasui said. "A masseur shall be along shortly."

TBC...


	12. At Last

**Part XII. At Last**

_I found a dream__  
that I could speak to__  
a dream that I__  
could call my own  
Then the spell was cast  
and here we are in heaven__  
for you are mine at last  
-Etta James_

"I think I have been patient enough, Ardeth." Memnon sat ramrod straight in the armchair across from his younger brother. Memnon's study was stocked with books, scrolls and papers. A Persian rug adorned the floor, the walls were plain. The terrace doors were open, letting in the evening breeze of the ocean.

Ardeth gave Memnon an indulgent smirk. "Yes, I suppose you have."

The elder Egyptian had been congenial with Lancelot, this foreign stranger who was smitten with his little sister. He had met him once, years ago, and remembered him to be a good warrior. Ardeth took a breath and explained to his brother of how Lancelot and Aisha connected while in Britain and spent time together on the ship to Sarmatia. Memnon's face betrayed no signs of compassion or understanding when Ardeth spoke of Lancelot seeing the younger Sarmatian kin being loaded into a dark ship, the young boy being attacked.

Memnon steepled his fingers, elbows rested on the armrests. His dark shoulder length hair was wavy, tucked behind his ears. A well coiffed beard dusted his face. His bronze skin was etched with the same tattoos as Ardeth's – cheeks, forehead and chin, which were covered by their facial hairs. _Medjai_. Warriors. In ancient times they served as bodyguards for the Pharaoh. Though, since the rule of Rome, the medjai had become a smaller sect of warriors. They were independent from the Egyptian army, and fought as allies to them.

"He is running away," Memnon said flatly, after hearing Ardeth's tale.

Ardeth's lips set into a firm line. "No. I think it merely tipped the scale. He came for Aisha."

Silence. "Are you so sure?"

Onyx eyes met onyx eyes. "Yes."

"Have they engaged in sexual relations?" Memnon, always blunt and to the point.

"No," Ardeth replied. "I believe Lancelot feels far too deeply to do so now."

A light scoff came from Memnon. "Ah, love."

"Love."

The humor fled from Memnon's face. "And what of money? Think that a reason why he came?"

"Definitely not," Ardeth said, growing impatient with his brother's constant cynicism, but bit back any retorts, because he saw the faintest flicker of pain in his brother's eyes. Ardeth was the only one who could catch such things in his enigmatic sibling. He knew he was thinking of the woman who had once been his wife – Helen. But that was long ago, and Memnon did not like to speak of it.

Memnon knew his brother was an excellent judge of character, if not a tad bit lenient; unlike him who was unforgiving. He loved his brother and sister dearly, and would die for them. He rubbed his hand down his face and looked out at the setting sun, hearing the waves crashing in the distance. Ardeth was secure in his marriage, and for that Memnon was glad, but he wanted the same for Aisha.

"Very well," he conceded. "Tomorrow we shall take Lancelot to the training grounds."

Ardeth could not help but chuckle. If there was any way a man could prove himself to Memnon, it was by sword.

"If I thought anything the least bit amiss with Lancelot, I would not have extended the invitation," he said.

"I know, brother," Memnon replied with a slight nod of his head. "I know."

----

The moon was clear. The soft breeze rustled the curtains. The balcony doors were open, letting in the glimmer of moonlight. It had been a long day. After his bath, a masseur had come and given him one hell of a massage. The people here were nice. Rasui was ever eager to please him, tacking on that "Sir" before his name whenever he addressed him. Already, Lancelot seemed to have a new wardrobe of the finest linens. There would definitely be no leather wearing here for him. Soft cottons, fabrics that let one breathe. So, along with his old clothes, he had five new pairs of breeches, four tunics and undershirts to go along with. He didn't know how he could possibly repay any of this, but knew if he said a word his protestations would be rebuffed. But somehow he would find a way to repay such kindness.

Dinner had been filling. Sitting down in a nice dining area with Aisha, Inara, Ardeth, and Memnon had been soothing. It was a change. No drunken soldiers yelling for more ale, no hearing palms slapping against a man's face for groping. No smells of sex and sweat that had not been bothered to be washed away.

Aisha took him for a stroll around the village. She took him to visit Mithra before the evening's end, and as Yafeu promised, Mithra was being well taken care of. They had gone by Nafrini's house. A two room domicile, one of the rooms used for her apothecary shop. She had a lovely garden surrounding her home; she was a good natured woman with a sense of humor.

Now, he reclined on his new bed, the nicest he had ever occupied, staring at the ceiling. It was warm. He wore only an old pair of pants. He kept his dragon trinket under his pillow. He knew where Aisha's room was and wondered what she was doing now.

But a soft knock on his door interrupted his reverie. He swung his legs over the bed and was about to get up when his sweet poked her head in the door.

"Lancelot?"

Even in the moonlight he could see all of her. She wore a white gown and robe that went to her ankles. Like an angel.

"Can I come in?" she asked him softly.

"Of course." A wide smile spread on his face. His feet hit the cool tiles on the floor. Then he felt her body pressed against his in a hug. She had given him a hug and kiss goodnight, but he could always do with more. "What's this?" he asked, reluctantly disengaging from her.

"Oh!" Her hand opened to reveal a small leather pouch crammed with something. "This is for you." Aisha handed it to him and he carefully undid the strings.

He sniffed it and it did not smell rotten. He lit up one of the ceiling lamps. There was some grass, a small rock...

"It's all from Sarmatia," she said. "Some earth, blades of grass, a leaf, and a rock." She blushed. "I thought...something to remind you of home."

Lancelot was silent, stunned by her utter love for him. "Thank you," he said, gazing at her in the eyes. He tied up the pouch and embraced her again, for more than she knew, and depths he could not fathom himself.

Aisha arms tightened around him, then her soft lips kissed his neck, sending shivers down his spine. She let herself step away and truly look at him. The light dust of hair on his chest, toned pectorals, sweeping down into a firm abdomen, a trim waist. His arms were muscled, and she traced the indentations. Her finger ran over a scar on his upper arm. A deep one in his upper waist. Then, she kissed a scar that was on the right side of his chest.

"Aisha," Lancelot breathed.

Her father had been a warrior, and her brothers were as well. She was not a stranger to seeing war wounds, battle scars. But his tugged on her heart especially. Was this how Inara felt when she saw the scars on Ardeth? A lump rose in her throat, she bit her bottom lip.

"It's all right," he said, crooking a finger under her chin so she would meet his eyes. He caressed her cheek and she put her hand over his. Lancelot pulled her to him once more, knowing that she would be able to feel his erection pressing against her stomach.

Her hands roamed up and down his bare back, snaking their way to the front until one hand made contact with the front of his breeches. Lancelot grunted. Oh, but he would love to take her now. What was under those cotton garments of hers?

Aisha's finger petted the trail of hair that led to his hidden privates. The cotton did little to disguise his wanting. She could feel her own wanting, the moist ache between her legs, the hardening of her nipples against soft linen. She untied her robe and let it fall to the floor. As she went to unlace his pants, his large hand encompassed her wrist, stopping her. If he was set free that would be the end of him. Instead, he kissed her passionately, devouring her and she him. His hands ran down the fabric of her gown, he cupped her buttocks, pressing her harder against his erection.

"I want you," he moaned into her neck.

"Take me," she replied, just as breathlessly.

Lancelot edged her towards the bed until her rear was against it. She would let him have her now. Feeling his hesitance, Aisha pulled her on top of him, falling fully on the bed. His hand went up her gown, feeling velvety skin, all the way to her heat, feeling that needy moisture. He was harder than he had ever been; wanting to make love with the only woman he had ever loved. Lancelot cupped her mound, his thumb played with her engorged nub. He kissed her nipples through the fabric of her gown, nibbled and nipped. He felt her entire body tighten and her whole body shook as she came in his arms. He would not make love to her now. Not in some clandestine heat of the moment.

"My sweet, I ache to make love to you, but not like this," he said softly. "I have never wanted any woman more."

Aisha looked up at him. "That was my first."

He chuckled. "I'm glad."

"There will be many firsts with us?"

And she looked so young then; his heart was near to bursting with adoration. "Yes, my sweet."

----

It was dawn when Aisha left his room. They had only held one another in the night, talking here and there, giving each other kisses. The house was up early, he threw on some clean clothes, washed his face and just as he opened the door, he came face to face with Memnon.

"Good morning," Lancelot said, his momentary surprise dissipating quickly.

"Good morning, Lancelot," Memnon said. "I was coming to see if you would like a tour of the training grounds today."

Lancelot knew this. He could see the challenge in the Egyptian's eyes. Aisha had told him how her eldest brother often tested people when they least expected it. But Lancelot could really expect no less from an older brother. He nodded and got his swords, and within a quarter of an hour they both were riding out to the training field.

People nodded at Memnon as they passed. The field was a hustle of activity. Even though in an entirely different country, Lancelot felt a sense of familiarity with it all. Commanders shouted out orders to the soldiers. All of their swords were curved. None wore armor, but who would in this heat? Some went bare-chested, some wore knee length breeches. He remembered how he and his brethren would make fun of the Romans who wore sandals. But here he could understand why, although not everyone did wear them.

Skin tones ranged from olive to very dark brown. Most heads were shaved. Memnon and Lancelot dismounted and stood at the sidelines. Further off soldiers were practicing their archery. African long bows for them all.

"Memnon!" A bald, dark-skinned man approached, white teeth flashing. A light gleam of perspiration covered his muscular frame. He wore dark blue breeches and boots, his scimitar sheathed at the hip. Lancelot noticed he bore the same tattoos as Memnon and Ardeth.

"Hondo," Memnon said, a benevolent smile spreading on his face. "This is Lancelot."

Black eyes observed Lancelot from head to toe, before finally holding out a hand, revealing a hieroglyphic image of King Cobra on his inner wrist. The same as Ardeth and Memnon.

"A warrior," Hondo said sagely.

"Sarmatian," Lancelot said, shaking his hand.

Hondo nodded. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. "How many years?"

"Fifteen in the Roman legion," he replied.

A faint sneer swept over Hondo's strong features. "Rome. You must be quite a warrior to have survived them."

Lancelot smirked, knowing that in some way Hondo was complimenting him, and that he obviously had no love for Rome.

A whistle blew and formations on the grounds were shifted.

"I best get back to the men. The newest recruits are having a hard time finding their asses." With a last nod at them both he returned to his duties.

"Care for a spar?" Memnon asked blithely. His hand was already on the hilt of his sword.

Lancelot acquiesced without a word. He had a feeling this was coming. The few times he had sparred with Ardeth, it had either ended up in a stalemate or a loss on his part. And according to Ardeth, his brother was just as good. The two brothers were similar on the outside, but on the inside, they differed. They both had the wavy, shoulder-length hair, the groomed beards, the tattoos. Both wore breathy cottons.

Both Egyptians fought like graceful savages – if there was such a thing. Both were the epitome of their warrior symbol – King Cobra. But Ardeth kept his hood hidden until the last moment, letting one think they were safe until that deadly hiss emitted like a death toll. Memnon let you know right from the start, his hood dilated, winging out, a whisper of the beginning of the end.

The two men took their spots across from one another. Memnon unsheathed his scimitar; Lancelot unsheathed his two double-edged swords. There was no mocking in the Egyptian, no quips, no teasing. Memnon said a word and went at him, Lancelot deflected his blow. Dirt rose up by their feet like a dry fog, iron clanged against iron. Their weapons locked and they pushed away from one another. Neither of them saw Inara, Ardeth and Aisha approach.

"I knew this would happen," Aisha said.

"No avoiding it, dear," Inara said. "Every other man who sought you out went through the same thing."

"Lancelot is different!" Aisha said.

"I know," Ardeth said, placing a gentling hand on her shoulder. "But you know Memnon."

Aisha pursed her lips.

"All the others ran off scared," Inara said; eyes on the two sparring men. "Lancelot would not do that."

"He hasn't said anything rude to him, has he?" Aisha gazed at her brother. "Nothing crude about money or rank?"

"He would not say the like to his face," her brother replied.

"But he has to you?"

No reply.

"What do you think?"

"I do not think Lancelot is at all after any position or riches. Memnon will come to the same conclusion," Ardeth assured her. And he knew he would. His older brother just liked to make it difficult for the suitor. Testing their wills, their wits, inner strengths.

They watched as the mock-fight went on. And on. Sweat ran down their faces. Finally, it came to a halting end, their weapons once again locked. They stared at one another for several moments before slowly backing away from the other. Memnon sheathed his word, put a fist over his heart and said something Lancelot did not understand, but by his tone he knew it was a reverence of sorts.

So Lancelot said something in return in Sarmatian: "An honor to know you, warrior."

Memnon half-grinned.

The silence was broken by Aisha's feet hurrying to Lancelot, a flagon of water in her hand.

"Thank you," he said.

"And for you," Aisha said, handing another flagon of water to her brother.

"It is so early, Memnon!" Inara exclaimed. "And already you are clashing."

"It is what I live for," Memnon replied. He drained the rest of his water and said he would inspect the soldiers.

"I as well," Ardeth said. He kissed Inara goodbye.

"Well, then," Inara said, watching her husband walk away.

"Bath then breakfast?" Aisha asked Lancelot.

TBC...


	13. Defined by Your Embrace

**Part XIII. Defined by Your Embrace**

_To love the one who loves you,__  
To admire the one who admires you,__  
In a word, to be the idol of one's idol,__  
Is exceeding the limit of human joy;__  
It is stealing fire from heaven.  
-Delphine de Girardin_

It wasn't long before Lancelot felt like he was truly home. He was finding his place within the small town and becoming familiar with the people. He and Yafeu had many in depth conversations about horses, and the Egyptian groomsman was only too eager to hear the Sarmatian legends about "heaven's creatures," as Yafeu called them. By the prompting of Memnon and Ardeth, Lancelot was a regular at the training grounds. He received admiring glances from the young soldiers, although some were still dubious as to the foreigner's character. But if Ardeth and Memnon approved, he couldn't be all bad.

Over the summer, Lancelot experienced the hottest heat of his life. The blazing sun bored down on him like the flames of hell. In the beginning, he was near to passing out from the heat, and even got sunburn as his skin wasn't used to such harsh exposure of light. But Aisha rubbed soothing balms over his skin and after a while his flesh was tanned and no longer sensitive. He learned how to ride a camel, which was a lot more difficult than it looked. But within a week he might as well have been riding one his entire life.

The men took Lancelot hunting for buffalo in the marshes, and when he snagged one on his first try he was praised. And some nights a bonfire would be lit by the ocean, and several people would bring their instruments and dance happily. When they wound down, they would sit in a circle and ask Lancelot to speak of his country.

He and Aisha were rarely separated, and the town was chatting about an impending marriage that had not even been proposed yet. The single women admired Lancelot from afar, and when they did, Memnon watched the Sarmatian closely, and Lancelot could not help but think that this was one of Memnon's tests. Even if it was, he didn't have to worry, Aisha was the only one he had eyes for.

It was decided that Lancelot needed to see more of Egypt, so Ardeth, Inara, Memnon, Aisha, and him planned a trip down the Nile. They left early in the morning. Memnon, Ardeth, and Inara rode in the first barge, and Aisha and Lancelot rode in the one behind it. The current flowed like sweet honey, aiding the oarsmen in their task, and the sun granted them respite from its heat.

When they reached Giza, Lancelot could not help but stare at the Great Pyramid. It was more fascinating than mountains. There were other people around, but it was quiet, quiet enough to hear the grains of sand rustle against one another.

"It was built for the fourth dynasty pharaoh Khufu," Memnon said, his voice breaking through the quiet.

"Around 2560 B.C.," Inara added. She moved away and closer to Ardeth. Such large monuments were daunting to her, made her aware of her own mortality, so whenever she came here, she needed Ardeth near. And he knew.

By the time they reached the Sphinx, Inara was in almost a meditative state. It was early afternoon and the temperature was growing hotter. They took out their flasks and drank the cool water and sat near the monument. Lancelot was still awed.

Inara put her hand on the stone. Stone that had been molded by human hands into this magnificent piece of history. Her fingers brushed against the dusty, rough bricks.

"This will stand for centuries more. Even long after Rome falls, this will be here," she said.

Lancelot nearly choked on his water. He stopped himself from turning his head this way and that to see if someone had heard. If anyone had said anything of the like in Britain, it would be considered blasphemy of a sort, worthy of a flogging.

Seeing Lancelot's stricken face, Inara laughed lightly. "You do not think Rome will fall?"

He was hesitant in answering her.

"They will," she answered her own question. "They want so, so much. Everything. And they will end up with nothing because of that." Few words, but she seemed exhausted just then. She put her hand on her forehead. "Perhaps we can get some shade, Ardeth?"

Ardeth nodded with a concerned look on his face. He could feel his wife's low spirits and it pained him.

"We'll catch up," Aisha said.

"Lunch should be ready soon," Memnon told them.

When they were alone, Aisha and Lancelot resumed their silence for a time.

"I never thought to imagine that Rome would come to an end," he said quietly. "I served them for half of my life." Then he laughed. "I've never heard anyone speak of it so assuredly."

"Inara will surprise you sometimes," Aisha said.

"Is she all right? She did not look well just now."

Her brow furrowed. "Sometimes she will become so quiet that it is eerie. I think there is much sorrow in her that she only shares with Ardeth."

"I love you, Aisha," he said suddenly.

She ruffled his curls. "I love you, too." And she often wondered when he would propose, or even if he wanted to. Inara and Nafrini said it was only a matter of time. They had also yet to make love to one another. But he would touch her down there and bring her pleasure that she could only have ever dreamed of.

----

When they arrived home they went their separate ways. Ardeth was still worried about Inara, she had been quiet the entire trip home. She had that faraway look in her eyes, and the corners of her lips were turned down.

They took a bath together in comfortable silence, washing the other's back and hair, languishing in the scented water. Their bedroom was cleaned with fresh linens, the lamps lit and light incense burning. Food and drinks were on the table.

When his back was turned, Ardeth heard the fall of clothing. Inara pressed her naked body against his back, her hands on his shoulders. He turned and embraced her. Her skin smelled of lavender.

"Ardeth," she said, looking into his eyes, "let me give you a child."

He was silent for a moment, then, "Oh, Inara..."

She put her fingers against his lips. "Please. You deserve the chance to be a father. You would make a wonderful one."

"I do not want to risk your health, _habibati_."

"Let me," Inara whispered. And she kissed him, stifling whatever protests he might have given her. She pulled his robe off of him, revealing his hardness and the lithe contours of his body. "Fill me, Ardeth."

There was a keen desperation in her voice, and tears filled her eyes. She wanted a child. And she believed that Ardeth should have one. A man such as him should be able to experience such a gift of parenthood. She wanted an extension of their love to go on. He had once told her that a baby was not worth her life. But there would be life after.

They fell to the bed and he rolled on top of her, his erection caught between them. He suckled her nipples, and she moaned in airy gasps.

It had been that way since the beginning. They had met two years apart in age, when he was eighteen and she sixteen. The first look in each others' eyes and they knew that was it for them. Ardeth pursued her like he had never pursued any other woman. True, they were young, but he didn't care. Since he was thirteen Ardeth had known the bodies of women, but Inara was different. He courted her for a year before they were finally able to be married. Both families were happy for them, even though they had initial reservations because of their ages. Memnon was dubious and tried to convince his brother to wait a while, but to no avail.

When he had bedded her on their wedding night, he had experienced heaven for the first time. Seven days and seven nights they spent together in their apartments, everything brought to them, what they needed. For twelve years they have been married, and never had there been any regrets.

And now, her tight channel clutched him with as much voracity as ever.

"Fill me, Ardeth," she said in his ear.

He did, spilling his thick seed inside of her, wondering if they had made a child, and he was not sure if that was something he wanted. But anything for his _habibati_, anything.

----

Lancelot had been secretive of his endeavor the past few days. The day after the trip to the pyramids, Lancelot approached Ardeth in his study.

"Come in," Ardeth said. He was sitting behind his desk, papers strewn about, a stylus in his hand. He smiled at Lancelot. He came around his desk and took a seat across from him on equal ground.

"I would like to discuss something important with you," Lancelot said.

The Egyptian stilled, hoping it was not what he was thinking. Did Lancelot want to return home?

Lancelot took a breath. "I want to ask Aisha to be my wife."

After a pregnant pause, Ardeth broke out in a wide grin and a hearty chuckle. "I can say without a doubt that you have my blessing, brother."

"Thank you, Ardeth. I know I do not have much to my name, but I will take care of her."

"I know. I do not doubt you."

Later that night Lancelot took Aisha for a walk on the beach. The waves crashed against the dunes, and the salty air ruffled their hair. The sand sunk beneath their toes. Aisha could tell he was apprehensive about something. She prayed to the gods that he did not want to leave her.

"Aisha, my sweet," he said abruptly. He stopped and put his hands on her upper arms, as if to prevent her from running.

"Yes?"

"You know I love you."

_Oh gods, he wants to leave_, she thought frantically.

He took something from his pocket. "I've never done this before." He laughed nervously. "Would you do the honor of being my wife?"

She gasped, and her heart caught in her throat. "Yes!" she fairly yelled and threw her arms around him.

He laughed and held her around the waist, twirling her in a circle. When he set her down, he took the ring he had made for her.

"Inara helped me with the sizing," he said.

Aisha saw the etchings in the gold ring. It was carved with lotus flowers and on the inner band the words "My Sweet" were etched in Arabic.

"Oh, Lancelot," she whispered. She let him put the ring on her finger, and it fit perfectly.

TBC...


	14. From This Moment On

**Part XIV. From This Moment On**

_From this moment life has begun__  
From this moment you are the one__Right  
beside you is where I belong__  
From this moment on  
-Shania Twain _

The day was finally here. After a month of preparations, Aisha was going to marry her love, her life, Lancelot. Since that day he had proposed she could think of nothing but this time, and what would come after the festivities. The night they would finally spend together, and each night thereafter. Although the sun was only just rising, Aisha could tell it meant to be a hot day. But not even a downpour would be able to deluge her happiness.

"Aisha?"

"I'm awake," she said, her sumptuous mouth curving into a bright smile as Lancelot walked towards her. He wore a thin cotton tunic that hung over his breeches. His curly hair was tousled.

"I wanted to see you." He sat down on the bed to face her. Her long ebony tresses were mussed from a night abed, but her eyes shined, her face glowed. Gods, but she is beautiful, and she was going to be his wife in a matter of hours. Lancelot knew once the day began that he would not be able to see Aisha until the nuptials, which would not take place until the very late afternoon. But he had to glimpse her face, hold her in his arms, kiss her lips, which he did.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too, Aisha. My sweet." The pad of his thumb caressed her cheek. There was little to be said, the rapture in their eyes that passed between them were words enough. Lancelot held her and she him in silence. They could hear the waves crashing against the dunes in the distance, and as the sun rose over the horizon, so did the occupants of the colony arise, getting their own selves ready for their wedding. The sun promised to shine on them, and their impending ceremony.

----

Lancelot's nerves were taut as bowstrings as he was pampered by a group of eunuchs who fussed over his appearance like mother hens. They trimmed his beard meticulously, clipped, and buffed his nails and toenails. He was made to soak in fragranced water, his skin scrubbed and lotioned, his hair thoroughly combed, his curls groomed just so. No matter the resistance he put out, the eunuchs might as well have been deaf. They clucked and tsked, swatting away his protests like bothersome flies. Ardeth had laughed and said it was the exact same treatment both he and Memnon had had to endure on their wedding days. It was the first he had heard of Memnon being married, but he did not get a chance to question that further.

Meanwhile, Aisha was receiving the same ministrations, albeit with more grace than her male counterpart. Inara and Nafrini were among the group of women who were attending to her beauty needs. She, too, bathed in scented water, her hair was lathered and rinsed and brushed to a shine. Her body was patted dry with linen towels. Oils were rubbed into her skin, leaving it smooth and soft to the touch. Her makeup was applied before she dressed. Kohl was lightly lined around her eyes, causing her brown irises to stand out. Gloss was moderately put on her lips, a modicum of rouge on her cheeks. The henna designs on her skin were done the previous night at the ritual henna party.

"Lancelot will want to whisk you away before the festivities even begin," Nafrini exclaimed. "He will ravage you..."

"Nafrini!" Inara chastised with mock reprimand. "Do not make her more nervous than need be."

Nafrini smirked. "Aisha knows what will happen in the bed chambers, yes?"

Aisha's stomach flip-flopped, and heat rose up her neck to her face. "Yes, but Lancelot and I have not-"

"Oh, we know dear, we just do not want there to be any surprises," Inara comforted.

"And the blood," Nafrini added.

Aisha fidgeted in her chair, now uncertainties creeping to her mind. Until now, Lancelot and she had done nothing but lovingly pet one another. Certainly, he had pleasured her; brung her to feverous climaxes, but never had he let even his fingers penetrate her. And she had never even seen his sex. Aisha had touched his thick, pulsing shaft, stroked him, caressed and reveled in his serrated breaths of pleasure, but never had she fully gazed upon his body. And the prospect titillated her. And what would he think of her body? More so, Aisha worried if she could not fully please him. He had so much more experience than she.

"Yes," Aisha finally answered. "I know about the blood." That did not frighten her.

The topic segued to other things, the women sharing their own amorous stories. They sang and hummed happily, the melodic atmosphere putting the bride at ease.

----

The sight of Aisha took his breath away. A goddess, she was divine. After hours of separation, they were brought together at dusk. She wore a sleeveless dress of pale gold, fringed with gold lace. The bind around her waist accentuated her curvy figure. The color of her garment set off her light brown skin. Her hair was done up in intricate knots, leaving exposed the nape of her neck. Her features were enhanced with a modest appliance of makeup. Golden bangles adorned her wrists, earring dangled from her lobes, and the ring he had given her sparkled like the sun.

"You look glorious," he told her, awed.

Aisha smiled. "As do you."

Lancelot wore brand new boots of finely tanned leather. His breeches were black, and the tunic he wore was silk, and over, his jerkin was gold velvet.

"Are we ready?" Ardeth asked.

----

Music. Drums. Lutes. Tambourines. All played fervent, rhythmic music as Aisha and Lancelot were paraded through the roads of the colony to the reception hall. Lancelot held her around the waist as she sat side saddle upon Mithra. The path was strewn with flowers, happy faces called to them, shouting good tidings, throwing fresh petals up in the air in celebration. The crowd, dancers, musicians, followed them to the decorated reception hall. Lancelot dismounted and helped his bride down easily. Two elaborate chairs were set up on the dais in the hall for the couple, and they sat upon them like royalty. Memnon, Ardeth and Inara joined them on the dais as family.

The room was decorated with garlands, and strings of blue silk between columns, and the scent of crushed lotus petals filled the room. Tables of food were set out. Roasted oxen, kid, and duck, purple shellfish, sea nettles, fish pastries, honey and nuts, quail, boar, sweet melons, dates. The finest wines had been delivered in amphorae, and it flowed into cups by the plenty. Songs were sung to the bride and groom. The instruments continued their melodic revelry, lutes, lyres, flutes. Dancers floated with the notes, people clapped along.

Poems were recited to Aisha and Lancelot, songs sung just for them. The night went on splendidly, until it was announced that the bride and groom would be retreating to their apartments. Loud cheers sounded out, and it took almost an hour to get through the well-wishers and back to the villa.

Lancelot waited patiently in his and Aisha's new chambers. More food and wine had been placed in the antechamber, he did not know if he could eat another bite. Aisha was in the bedroom, preparing herself, and Lancelot looked out the window while he bided his time. He could still hear the music in the distance; the festivities would no doubt go into the morning, much like a Pagan ceremony. Sometimes it would go on for days. He took a deep breath, hardly believing that he and Aisha were finally husband and wife. He couldn't have been a luckier man.

"Lancelot?" Aisha's soft voice called out to him.

He smiled at her. She wore a sheer silk robe over an ankle-length nightgown. Her jewelry was removed, and all the makeup was washed from her face. Her hair was undone from its clasps and hung like a waterfall down her back. Lancelot embraced her, not able to have a hair's breadth of distance between them. He breathed her in, his senses filled with an aroma that was indelibly Aisha. He was very aware of her plush breasts against his chest, the tender curves of her body. Likewise, Aisha could feel his hardness against her stomach.

She looked up at him, and he gazed back. Without words, they entered the bedroom, closed and locked the door behind them. The room was lit with candles; petals were strewn across the linens of the bed, and the marble floors.

"I do not want to wait," Aisha said.

Lancelot grinned. He leaned down and kissed her, softly and fully, his tongue broke through her lips to connect with hers. She moaned and pressed herself closer, arms wrapped tightly around his neck as his own hands roamed down her back to her buttocks. Her robe was undone and slipped to the ground. Her gown was so sheer he could see the areolas, and her puckered nipples, and the thatch of hair at the juncture of her thighs. She smiled shyly.

"Beautiful," he said under his breath.

Tentatively, Aisha undid his belt that held his jerkin together. Carefully, he let her remove his clothes until he wore only his breeches. He inhaled and exhaled steady, his muscular chest rising and falling like the wax and wane of an ocean's waves. Aisha kissed his chest softly, her warm breath whispering over his skin. His rough hands gently slid down her arms until he held her hands. Lancelot kissed her knuckles, her palms, which were still tattooed with henna. He led her to the bed and lay atop her, easing her as they found a rhythm. He kissed her breasts through her nightshift; his hand slipped under and caressed her thigh, inching higher until he cupped her warm arousal. Her hips bucked slightly and she moaned his name like a prayer. Lancelot brought her to climax in minutes.

Aisha's hands went to the laces of his breeches and untied them, finally, she saw him. He let her touch him, his thick sex that was pink and rigid. She touched the bead of liquid on his head and he shuddered. It was his turn to look upon her. Slowly, he stripped her of her nightgown. Her breasts were full, abdomen firm. Lancelot whispered endearments in Sarmatian as he kissed his way up her calves, then her thighs, until his tongue made contact with her sex.

"Lancelot!" she moaned, surprised, even though she had seen where he was heading. One finger penetrated her hot sheath, then two. He stroked inside of her, his thumb rubbing her engorged nub until she was climaxing again. "I want you inside of me."

Lancelot kissed her abdomen, up to her breasts which he suckled and nipped at. His face was above her now, and she could feel the head of shaft against the opening of her sex.

"I will be as gentle as possible, my sweet," he said.

"I know you will."

Bit by bit, Lancelot entered her, being engulfed by her moist warmth was exquisite, unlike anything he had ever experienced. He may have been with other women, felt the same wetness in them, but this was different, this was paradise. When he reached the veil of her virginity, he paused and kissed her. When her body eased, he gave a firm thrust and broke through. Aisha hissed and her nails dug into his shoulders.

"Are you all right?" he asked, concerned.

She nodded. "Yes." Her hands trailed down the defined contours of his back until they clutched his buttocks.

He began to move his hips; each loving thrust caused the walls of her sex to cleave to his shaft. The slight discomfort gave way to a rising pleasure. She wrapped her thighs around his waist and her hips instinctively rose to meet his movements. Her neck arced back, her mouth opened in a rush of ecstasy.

When Aisha began to keen, Lancelot moved a bit faster, a bit harder.

"Gods," he growled under his breath. It was all he could manage to utter as he felt her heat as surely as she was feeling his. He could feel himself reaching his peak, and judging by the way her sheath was pulsing, she was reaching hers as well.

Aisha moaned aloud, cried out his name as the tide of their love rose. They both came in unison, calling out, his warm seed spilling inside of her, filling her. He kissed her face gently, and her own lips brushed against his neck, his shoulders. A tear slipped down her cheek.

"Did I hurt you?" His brow furrowed in worry.

"No," she replied. "I just love you so much."

Lancelot swallowed the lump in his throat. "I love you more than anything."

They made love throughout the night. And for the first time in his life, Lancelot knew what heaven was.

TBC...


	15. Put Your Arms Around Me

A/N: This is the last chapter I have completed, I've got three stories in process right now, but I'll try to keep this one up. :) Thanks to those few who've been reading!

**Part XV. Put Your Arms Around Me**

_That original feeling never went away__  
That's why I'm standing here today.__  
So put your arms around me__  
And then stay there forever  
__Let it always be this way  
__You and me together  
-Natasha Bedingfield_

Inara felt a trickle of moistness between her thighs. She knew without looking that it was her menses. Quietly, she got out of bed, so as not to disturb Ardeth, to tend to herself before she stained the sheets. She had been hoping that she had conceived, but it was not to be. Inara could hear the waves crashing against the dunes in the distance, and the breeze ruffling the gossamer curtains that veiled the balcony. Finished with her toiletries, she slipped her light robe on and decided to get some air. It was chilled outside, but she welcomed the gentle wind as it combed through her hair and whispered against her skin. The stars were bright, the sky black with the moon a beacon to the heavens. Inara stared out in the distance, torches flared to illuminate the surrounding walls as the guards patrolled their community.

Inara and Ardeth had lived here since the time they married fourteen years ago. They had been young, sixteen and eighteen, and despite the words of their elders that said they should wait until they were older, they had gone ahead and sealed their love, not regretting a day. Her mother and father had not objected to her choice of husband, for Ardeth was of noble blood and a prosperous family. Had he been nothing but a warrior, they surely would have had stronger reservations. Her friends had always thought she would marry a wealthy scholar or doctor or stuffy aristocrat, but from the moment she clapped eyes on Ardeth when she was sixteen, she had fallen irreversibly in love. Ardeth and his brother Memnon were shipping out from Alexandria at that time, they had a week until they were to leave. Inara and Ardeth had met at a party, they had danced, and were seated next to one another at dinner. After, they had stolen away to the gardens and talked until their voices were dry. He had told her he loved her the night before he was to depart. And so touched was she that she had gone speechless, and taking her silence for rejection he had bid her goodnight. But she was in love with him, too, and the next morning she had hurried her way to the harbor, pushing her way through the crowd to get to him. He was just about to board the ship when he heard her yelling his name. She told him she would wait for him, and over the year he was gone, she received letters. When he returned, they were married three months later.

She still remembered the night they had made love for the first time. He was so gentle and tender with her, patient. Despite the hardened warrior he was, off the battlefield one would never guess that he was capable of killing another. Inara had been told the basics of coupling, along with some scandalous stories from other women. She had been so nervous, so nervous that she would fail to please Ardeth, for surely he had been with many more experienced women. Yet, he had made love to her with such a passion that he had fairly come apart in her arms that time, and each time after. It was the same for her, their love had become stronger with each passing day.

"Inara?"

Her head turned around as Ardeth stepped through the curtains onto the balcony. He had put on a light pair of breeches that reached his knees and nothing else. His body was toned and muscular, his shoulders broad, abdomen defined, as were his arms. He had scars, but that only added to his sensuality, the depth of his person.

Ardeth stood next to her and tucked a strand of her silky hair behind her ear. Brother Osiris, but his _habibati_ was magnificent. With the moon and stars alight, she was positively ethereal. He had awoken by her lack of presence beside him.

"Did I wake you?" she asked.

"No. But what are you doing up? It is late."

She smiled faintly. "My menses."

He nodded in silence. He could feel her disappointment. But she leaned into him, just barely reaching his shoulder. He put his arm around her, feeling her warmth, giving her warmth, Ardeth heard her exhale contentedly.

"We can forego the trip to Alexandria if you are tired," he said.

"Oh, no!" This time she smiled fully at him. "It will be Lancelot's first official outing in the city. We should all be there."

He chuckled.

"You know how stuffy aristocrats can be. No doubt he will be questioned about his status and family. Yes, we need to all be there."

Ardeth kissed her on her head. His Inara was protective of all, especially of love. His sister and new brother-in-law had been married three months now, and were blissfully happy. As happy as he and Inara had been, and still were.

"I do hope Helen is not there though," she ruminated. "I know that sounds crass, but Memnon always becomes saturnine when he sees her, even though he hides it well."

"Yes, he does," he agreed solemnly.

Helen, his brother's Grecian ex-wife. Who had betrayed him and their vows in the most cruel and grievous way. Ardeth never once wondered who had been responsible for Helen's illicit lover's death. He knew.

"I always pray that he may find another who will love him as he truly deserves," Inara said.

"Perhaps, one day. I fear he has closed his heart to such possibilities." Ardeth sighed. He felt Inara shiver. "Come, we should be abed, you will catch a chill."

She giggled. "Me? You are the one wearing next to nothing." She eyed him up and down appreciatively, teasing; but allowed him to take her back inside and into their warm bed.

----

They could have traveled to Alexandria by land, but they opted for boat, for it would take less time to arrive and Aisha wanted to show Lancelot the Pharos Lighthouse. Aisha and Lancelot stood on deck, looking out into the ocean. She couldn't believe it had been three months already. Every morning she woke up beside him, feeling his warmth and touch. They made love whenever they could, the intensity never waning. She wondered yet if she would become with child. But they were in no rush.

"Is that it?" Lancelot asked.

"Oh, yes!" Aisha exclaimed, seeing the lighthouse coming into view.

The Pharos Lighthouse was some distance from Alexandria. Ptolemy I Sorter began construction at the beginning of third century BC. It had taken twelve years to complete, but Ptolemy I had died shortly before it was finished. It was a spectacular sight, over three hundred feet tall and constructed of three parts: the bottom square section with a central core, the middle was octagonal, and the top was circular. At the apex, the sunlight reflected off of a mirror.

"I wish you could see it at night," Aisha said. "When the fire is lit."

"We'll watch out for it," Lancelot said.

Memnon came up on deck, seeing his sister and her husband laughing together. He was happy for them. Three months and things were all well. But he wasn't particularly pleased at this little outing they were on, their destination and the party they were to attend. Politics, stuffy aristocrats. Not all, but most. He was a warrior through and through and did not like to bother with such things. He left most of that up to Ardeth. He was much better at socializing than he was. Memnon prayed to the gods that he wouldn't see Helen there. She was a widow to one of those noble aristocrats, a wealthy man, whom Memnon knew had taken lovers despite his vows. Two of a kind Helen and that man had been.

Memnon detested people who broke vows. Loyalty was important, dignity, honor. Some things Helen knew nothing about. After five years he would still shake his head in shame about the way his one and only marriage had turned out. He had truly loved her, and she had betrayed him in the worst way. He would never marry again. He took his earthly pleasures with women of his choosing, though none from his colony. Memnon always made sure his lovers harbored no ideas or hopes that he would want something more from them. Once they became too attached he parted ways. His marriage with Helen had only made him realize that he was a warrior first. He wasn't like his brother who balanced the gritty life of a warrior and the life of hearth and home.

----

They were staying in an opulent palace, bigger than their villa back at the colony. The palace belonged to a family friend who had been friends with Ardeth, Memnon, and Aisha's parents.

It was early evening, the day after their arrival, and the festivities would begin within an hour. Already servants were putting out a feast of feasts that could feed three armies. They all bathed then went to their quarters to dress.

"This is quite..." Lancelot began.

"Ostentatious?" Aisha provided.

"Indeed. How long have you known this man?"

"Since I was a child. _Walide_ and Remmao knew one another when they first began to train as warriors. Remmao's wife died some ten years ago, and now he is married to a woman who is young enough to be his daughter." Aisha laughed at Lancelot's expression.

"Was it a love match?"

"I think it was more political," Aisha said. "But they do seem to have a genuine affection for one another." She slipped off her robe, leaving nothing to Lancelot's imagination. She smiled at him when she caught him looking.

"I am shameless," Lancelot said, approaching her, his own robe askew from his erection.

"That is fine with me," she said, accepting his embrace. Aisha quivered when he kissed her behind her ear, his beard abrading against her skin. She undid the sash that held his robe together and let it fall to the floor.

Lancelot's sex pushed against her belly, she felt the moisture from the trickle of liquid that seeped from his head. He was such a wonderful lover. He showed her things that she had not even thought possible. Every time he entered her, she felt him to her womb, stretching her to her limits and then some. Their lips met in a sensual kiss that soon turned into a duel of tongues that heated their cores. His chest hair rubbed against her sensitive nipples, he moaned deeply when she reached between them and stroked his phallus.

"You will make me finish before we even start," he growled, turning her around so her hands rested on the bed.

He brushed her hair to the side over her shoulder, giving him full access to the curve of her neck. He nibbled gently, then rubbed his tongue over the love bite. Aisha's legs would have bucked if it were not for the firm grip he had around her waist.

"My love...please," she whispered, pressing her rear against him.

Lancelot cupped her breasts and teased her hard buds. He entered her from behind with one quick thrust. She was more than ready to accept his entry. Slowly, he moved his hips back and forth, pulling out just enough to leave the crown of his sex inside before sliding back in. He loved the way she felt, gripping him, her channel pulsating around his hard shaft. Aisha began to push back against him, matching his rhythm. His other hand played with her swollen nub between her legs.

He whispered things in Sarmatian, his voice becoming more strained as he reached his peak.

"Come with me," he said.

Aisha did, and they broke apart together, one body, one soul.

----

"Hmm." Inara pulled her face slightly after taking a sip of wine from the gold goblet. "A bit over tart."

Ardeth chuckled.

"Well, it is," she said, smiling at him.

Dinner was served and done, now the real festivities began with dancing and music, free to mingle and talk to whomever. Ardeth was often approached by this or that wealthy person. He knew most of the men's main reason for greeting him was to greet his wife. Inara's own salutations were always kind, but if she saw the amorous look in their eyes, she responded in no way. That was the way she was. Unaware of her own body, save for the most basic ways. She moved naturally when she walked, hips swaying, walking as if she were floating.

Ardeth knew Inara moved only for him, never one to purposely draw a man's attention to herself. After all these years, even in public, he had to fight to draw his attention away from her backside when she retreated. Others did, too. But he took no offense. She looked glorious tonight – when did she not? – in a one-shouldered dress of silk burgundy, the edges laced with velvet with intricate designs; her long hair twisted in a fancy bun. She had fussed with his clothes as well. Black breeches, white tunic, and a burgundy coat of velvet to match her ensemble. His shoulder length hair was tied back with a leather strip of fabric.

"You do not approve of the wine, Inara?" Memnon asked with a grin.

"A bit tart," she said once more.

"Is not wine supposed to be?"

Ardeth laughed. "My wine connoisseur."

"Where are Aisha and Lancelot?" Memnon asked.

It was Inara's turn to laugh. "Lancelot keeps being waylaid by the women. They've barely given him a chance to breathe, poor man."

Memnon smirked and took a sip of his own drink. His dark eyes met a woman's across the room. He wore all black in the finest materials, despite his sister-in-law's attempt to get him to integrate some color into his wardrobe. His onyx hair fairly shined, his beard trimmed to its finest. He could admit with no vanity that he knew women found him dark and tempting, exotic.

"Lady Isis!" they heard Aisha proclaim as she and Lancelot approached them. She wore a dark blue dress of a similar design as Inara's. Lancelot clothed in the same respect as Ardeth.

The jesting was interrupted by a child's squeal. The five year old bumped into Memnon, causing his drink to slosh over the brim and onto the marble floor.

"Ammon!"

Brother Osiris, Memnon knew that voice like his very own. He looked down at the child by the name of Ammon. Ebony hair, dark olive skin, green eyes.

"I do apologize..." The woman had been looking at her son, but her words trailed off when she realized whose company her young child had stumbled into. She was rather beautiful, olive skin, long mahogany hair, and green eyes. Her figure was curvaceous in her expensive red dress of the Grecian fashion. Her face blushed and she pulled a smile. "I apologize," she repeated, mustering up her dignity. "He got away from his nanny."

"That is quite all right," Inara spoke. "No harm was done. He's adorable."

Helen was thankful for Inara's kindness. "Thank you. Ammon, say your pardons."

Ammon only giggled, then he looked straight at Memnon and said, "My pardons."

Memnon merely tipped his head ever so slightly.

"How are you, Helen?" Inara asked.

She took her son's arm in her hand, trying to still him, he was captivated by Memnon. "I am well. And you? Ardeth? Aisha? I heard you were married." She looked at Lancelot.

"Three months ago," Aisha said, smiling up at her husband. "This is Lancelot."

Lancelot greeted her in kind, not missing the underlying tension of this unexpected meeting. He saw the wavering sadness when Aisha looked at the young boy, she would explain why later.

"It was lovely seeing you all again," Helen said. "But it is passed my son's bedtime," – she couldn't help but flick her eyes quickly at Memnon – "he needs be abed."

"Goodbye Ammon," Inara said.

"Sleep well, Ammon," Aisha said.

His little hand waved and he walked off with his mother.

Memnon was already walking away from them, lost in the cluster of peoples.

"Oh dear," Inara sighed.

----

How dare her! How dare she look at him suggestively when she said the words "my son." As if she was accusing him of something. Throwing the innocent boy in his face like that. Memnon could not still his racing heart. He had exited the manse as quickly as he could. Needing the cool air of the garden. He walked into the shadows where no one was and stared up at the sky. Seeing her still made his blood boil even though he was good at hiding it. Only his family could detect it. How could he have made such a grievous mistake in choosing her for a wife? Was he blind? He was usually an excellent judge of character.

It had been lust, he told himself on many an occasion. Helen had come from a middle-class family, but social hierarchy never mattered a whit to him. It was her jade eyes that had captured him. Memnon had been twenty-eight, she twenty-two, and unmarried. Fool that he was he had mistaken her wide-eyed greed for awe at a better life. Mistaken her shallow devotion to him for loyalty, love. He had thought her an innocent, something warm and tender to come home to after a battle. Someone who could soothe his hard edges at night.

Memnon was a busy man. Often campaigning and going off to battle, training younger soldiers. She had known this when he'd proposed to her, he had told her, and she said she understood. But what was her excuse when she had told him why she had strayed? She was lonely. She had missed him. Missed him so much that she'd slept with another man!

It had begun with good news...

_Helen was pregnant. He was going to be a father. The idea was shocking but his heart warmed with pleasure. A life inside of his wife that they had created out of love. Three weeks ago he had returned after a two month absence, and now, four weeks later she tells him she is pregnant. It also saddened him because his brother and Inara always wanted a child, but it still was not to be for them. _

_Seven and a half months later, a boy was born. Almost two months early, but the baby was fully developed. Nafrini, the midwife, told him the baby boy was perfectly healthy. Something did not feel right to Memnon. He took Nafrini aside._

"_This baby is fully developed but he is almost two months early," he said. His dark eyes bored into Nafrini's, she could barely meet his gaze. "Nafrini. Do babies look like that when born prematurely?" _

"_Some do," she replied, but her tone was less than sure, evasive._

"_She told me she was with child four weeks after my return. Remember? When did her symptoms begin? You remember every little thing about every pregnant woman, Nafrini. Tell me."_

_Nafrini was immensely distressed but Memnon would not relent. "Please, Memnon, this is supposed to be a joyous day."_

"_Not so joyous if this child is not mine!" he hissed._

"_Brother." Ardeth approached. "Let her tend to Helen." Nafrini scurried away before she could be called back._

_Memnon's face was the picture of calm, but inside he seethed, trying to battle against the truth. "Ardeth."_

_Ardeth took him to his study and poured him a drink. _

"_Tell me what you think, brother," Memnon said, knowing he could always trust Ardeth to divulge the truth to him._

_The younger sighed and sat across from Memnon. "I know Inara, and her eyes are worried. She confided something in me many months ago. After we left for our campaign, Helen went to visit her family in Alexandria for a month. When she returned Inara noticed something different about her. A bit pale, like she was ill."_

_Memnon's hand curled into a white-knuckled fist. "She betrayed me," he said so quietly that Ardeth barely heard him._

"_We do not know for sure."_

_Memnon scoffed. _

"_She might have conceived the night before we left, Memnon," Ardeth told him. "Or even some days before that. With you."_

"_Then why would she wait four weeks to tell me?" He stared at his brother flatly. "I will not know until I ask her." He stood up abruptly, but Ardeth blocked his path._

"_Please, brother, wait until she recovers some of her strength." He put his hand on his shoulder. "Please."_

_So Memnon did wait. He was reluctant to hold the baby, not wanting to get attached if what he feared was true. He did not want to see Helen breastfeeding the child. He stayed away as much as he could. His sister Aisha, played with the child, obviously falling in love with little Ammon. She hadn't a clue of what was to come. Sometimes he would catch Helen looking at him strangely. Memnon waited an agonizing month for the truth. Ammon was sleeping._

"_This child was born at seven and a half months," Memnon said._

_Helen was startled at the strange topic. "But he is perfectly healthy."_

"_That is the point. Ammon is not the result of premature birth."_

"_Memnon, what are you saying?"_

"_You went to Alexandria for a month when I went on my campaign. You came back pregnant, did you not?"_

_She was speechless. "This is ridiculous!"_

"_Is it?" His voice was fierce, his obsidian eyes black holes. "You betrayed me, Helen. I know."_

_Her jaw tightened and she looked away. Tears filled her eyes. "Please, Memnon."_

"_Damn you," he growled. He stood in front of her, towering over her. "Damn you."_

_Helen reached out to him. "Please, forgive me, Memnon. I did not mean for it to happen."_

"_You deliberately chose to sleep with this man," he accused forcefully. "You insult me!"_

"_I swear it, Memnon! I love you! I was just so lonely! You are gone so often-"_

"_Lonely?" His voice was poison. "Lonely? You think I do not get lonely when I am out with only hundreds of men for company for months? And when we make stops there are whores around who are only too willing to lay with a warrior! But I have never so much as considered taking a one of them!"_

"_Please-"_

"_Cease your sniveling, woman. You will take your child and be gone from here within the week."_

"_No!" she fairly yelled. She clutched his tunic. Tears streamed down her face. _

_Memnon pried her fingers from his garb. "Do not beg."_

"_I love you, Memnon! Forgive me, please!"_

"_There is no forgiveness for such a betrayal, Helen. You obviously do not know me at all if you think I would forgive this."_

"_Memnon, I-" Aisha's smile wilted from her face seeing Helen's tears and her brother's anger. She had come to tell him that she had hit the bulls-eye with all twelve of her arrows, but this was not a good time, apparently._

"_Leave us, please, Aisha," he said as gently as he could. She nodded and left._

_Memnon turned back to Helen, saying nothing. Seeing his coldness she broke down and fell to her knees, wailing. Her sobs brought Inara and Ardeth rushing to her bedroom. Inara kneeled down and put her arms around Helen._

"_Oh, gods, please forgive me!" Helen cried._

"_You can take whatever you have acquired during this farce of a marriage," Memnon said. "You will be given transportation back to your home. And you will never set foot here again. You, or your child." He left the room._

_Ardeth did not try to dissuade Memnon from his decision. Betrayal was a sin, disloyalty was unforgivable. If one could not trust, one could not love. _

"_Why does Ammon have to leave?" Aisha cried. "Can he not stay?!"_

_His sister's tears pulled at his heart, but Memnon held strong. "Ammon is her child, Aisha."_

"_But you do not know that for certain!" she protested._

"_I do."_

"_You do not!" Aisha yelled, startling her brother. "There is a chance he might be! He has your hair!"_

_Memnon had already discovered who Helen's lover was. The man had dark hair, too, but he did not tell his sister this. Helios Konstantinos. A fairly wealthy noble, but not so wealthy as Memnon. Helios, sun. Well, the sun was going to set. The bastard knew Helen was married, that was enough to convict in Memnon's eyes._

"_Do not send him away!" Aisha pleaded._

"_I am truly sorry this pains you, Aisha. But his place is not here."_

_Memnon left the next day, returning in three. Two days later, Helen and Ammon were gone. Aisha cried and did not speak to Memnon for weeks._

"_She is young," Ardeth said._

_Memnon nodded. "I understand her pain."_

"_I am sorry for yours, brother." Ardeth could see the hurt in Memnon's eyes. The weariness and sting that came with betrayal and heartache. _

"_I was a fool," Memnon said._

"_You loved," Ardeth corrected._

_Memnon sneered. "Lust, brother. I was blind. Damned blind."_

_The next day Memnon and Ardeth heard startling news. A death in Alexandria that had occurred a little over a month ago. A noble. Helios Konstantinos died open-eyed, staring at the ceiling. Ardeth knew of only one way a man could be killed like that. It was a technic passed down in their family. It was a painful way to die, but a way to make a murder look like a natural death. _

"_What a shame," Memnon said._

A shame indeed, he thought now. So immersed in his thoughts that he did not hear the soft footsteps behind him.

"Did you kill him?" Helen asked.

He did not show his surprise at being caught unawares. He knew whom she was referring to. Her long hair ruffled in the breeze, and he could see her hard nipples beneath the fabric of her dress. She exuded sexuality.

"I have a right to know," she said after he did not answer.

"What difference would it make?"

"You left Ammon without a father. First you. Then Helios. He would have accepted Ammon."

"Your son is better off. It is bad enough he has a mother who does not possess the ability to be loyal and true. Need he a father that would cavort with married women?"

"You are so cruel," she said in a hushed whisper. "Were you always this cruel?"

He smiled dryly. "I can be cruel. But not to those I love."

Helen winced.

"But you have done well for yourself, Helen. You married another wealthy man, whom passed away two years after your nuptials, leaving you with quite a tidy sum. No?"

She swallowed a lump in her throat. "Why did you kill him, Memnon?"

A long, strong wind blew between them. Memnon stood in front of her, close enough to smell her perfume, the rich oils in her hair.

He said, "Because I could not kill you."

TBC...


End file.
